Even if it does, it happens
to others, far away.
Other lives like so many
species of flies.
Each distinct and separate
from us.
Lets pretend that words are
living–
Poetry saves lives. These
squiggles have depth and meaning.
Lets pretend art is beauty.
And beauty is our saviour.
We shall rage against the
night for beauty. And only beauty.
Lets pretend every dissenting
voice is a cynic.
A miasma. A pebble in the
eye.
We shall write them words
full of beauty.
See. Lets pretend they
shall.
Lets pretend everyone else is
stupid.
Lets pretend we get depressed
because no one understands
what we understand.
We see things that no one
else sees.
We shall collect words that
speak to us.
We shall read more. Every
sentence, every paragraph
another brick in our
immaculate comprehension.
Lets pretend this is the true
purpose of life.
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