If you shout, it becomes impossible to hear the silence.
I scream, so you'll never be able to tell.
You don't, which is both irritating and amusing to me,
Blissfully unaware, as I do not cave to your pathetic pleas.
They feel neither real, nor true. I don't like to believe you anyway,
Often inaccurate as you are.
Yes, I am perfectly well, thank you.
The truth is something of great beauty,
Beauty being something I cease to possess.
No comments:
Post a Comment