as fast as the son

would waste me in minutes,

the speed of youth,

would hurt the old boy,

he’s no player with toys.

all sparks fizzling out,

the dark corners shout,

toes know the cold,

waist is spreading south.

heart is slow and slowing,

extremities showing,

no feelings, no doubt.

the darkness will always have a light,

hopes existential,

if there’s a god, “..which I don’t believe, but..”

they’re in the unrealised potential,

if they existed.

that’s a paradox,

“..sounds theorised submental..”

in the things we see,

we see things subjectively,

objectively distorting their reality.

we see lies,

told by spies,

“ the lord of the flies?.”

reality is only out there,

because we wrongly stated,

the truth of the world

is that it was never told.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString

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