What makes you yourself?
And me myself?
Is it the ambiguous name?
Or the ambivalent faces of the picture frame?
Are we both not all the same?
Don't we share exactitude in life's game?
Do we really need to quarrel?
Turning obsolete every bit of moral?
For the world is a place too hideous,
Leaving no place for a man righteous.
Left are no places for optimism,
Every inch meticulously filled with pessimism.
Canst I demand a single effort of reiteration?
For once canst you abjure your decision?
Am I asking for something you cannot ...