Hauning Number Poem by Dead Beat Poet
Hauning Number
The number haunts me,
I see it still.
On every clock,
and window sill.
Nothing is real,
on that we agree.
But if that is so,
who's reality?
A series of bits,
into your brain.
If you take in too many,
they call you insane.
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5/5/2024 2:16:35 AM # 1.0.0.1119
