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what is real is in question

my time alone is comforting and easy

and sometimes lonely

but alone I can hear my thoughts above all others

even when I don’t particularly want to

and most importantly when I do

today my voice says

“what is real and where are you in this?”

today there is no answer

only weariness.

what is good

and what goodness means

are different beasts

i think I must give up the idea of things meaning anything at all

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