Who's Fault Is It
Within the confines
Of an infinite space,
An illusion of freedom
Looms over us.
We’re brainwashed as children,
Then live to die.
Anchors of trauma,
Curses of choice.
They keep us in place.
Yes, tell me.
Argue that I’m wrong.
“Stop being a cynic,
People aren’t all like that!”
You can say whatever,
But you can’t sway me.
My mind has already been made.
And in my reality,
.sdrawkcab lla ti tog ev‘uoY
Copyright © Correagndslkhsj Loaifhshfasjkh | Year Posted 2019
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