Look forward
The individual piles of independence
Considered necessary for lunacy
Yet are essentially illusions to distract
Our meaningless
Here's There's and "In-between's"
We gather 
Sort Lift 
Lay Discard 
And mourn things 
While people lay hold to broken hearts, 
Such vicious dialogues in former halls that echo despairing emptiness
We socialize
Build ye 
Climb ye 
Ladders Ascend
Social cliches embrace foil 
They decorate tin hearts which hold no shine
We mull events
Dull the senses
Junket the abode
Such are shiny trinkets
Treasures rust pale and dissolve
There is no comfort
Be an island independent to the needs wants and hope of others
Fill carry
sort ignore
The simpering illusion
Judge Ye, Condemn ye, and tarry long in illusions of the junket
Empty eyes stare back
They cannot build, grow or embrace, such are truly empty foil, ragged and sharp
Typical junkets into fantasies fulfilling
We are rife with such emotional thievery
Imprisoned are those that never leave the vague fancies of a short sighted mind


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