The road’s end can’t be seen,
You’re at it.
Some days the razors drawn,
And you’re staring in the mirror, and
You’re staring at the world.
And some days you’re disillusioned
love drunk, or hating,
You’re in the middle,
Each extreme obviously absurd,
Though, it’s too late, and you’ve fallen.
Fallen to complacency, of a bad memory,
to Curiosity’s transparent dress.
Now you’re caught like a hypocrite,
Scratching like a beast for the post,
For the wire,
For justice, for the balance of desire,
For things you’ve given up,
And people you’ve let down,
And now you’re alone,
now you understand,
And are a hypocrite,
Just like me.
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