This way of life is not what you make of it.
It's not as easy as you think.
Some days I see it falling faintly,
falling from this place where days are good.
For what's inherent if there must be good?
What else would a sunny day be?
As skewed as that may seem,
I'm telling you,
that's the way things are.
For you the reader.
For me the writer.
The inherent flaw in my way of life
is the life I choose to live,
what isolates everyone else from
me.
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