I

All the things I think I get
All the plans I think I laid
All the folks I think I met
All the hands I think I played
Everything feels like a dream
All suspended in the air
I don’t hear it when I scream
I don’t see it when I stare
Then the I-ness of existence
Hits me right between the eyes
It’s the craziest inversion
Of the sum of all my lies
All alone with all my I’s

Post Categories: Poetry

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