too much of the fake life is closing in all around us
like the caress of a lover unwanted our skin recoils
but there is no escape it embalms us it sticks in layers
until we cannot distinguish anymore the perfect dream
from the destitute reality
day by day we continue to pretend that this is it
we tell ourselves that there is strength in numbers
we catalogue every meaningless moment as if in so doing
we could convince ourselves that interaction is everything
and there is nothing more
then we see for a moment a light gleaming from somewhere
we struggle we blink to understand to recognize
but the soldiers of nicety the legions of taboo
chain us down so we can only wonder what would happen
if we could escape and go on
go on to take our dream wherever it may be found
go on to disdain the judgment of a million fake people
that matter not as much as a single real person
go on to adventure into the unknown the uncharted
the last real place
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