I say that I’m OK. My apathetic, automatic feedback. Just ticks to keep you safe. My mind’s been tattered, scattered thoughts, contagious. Incongruous lies in every breath. Life is smiles, laughter, sorrow, death. They fear me. Revere me. I’m just the product of my intentions. I’m questioning “isn’t it great to be alive?” Lost in translation, what is optimism? A foreign body in my mental prison. Held captivated, there’s my motivation. I’ve never been quite good at fluent conver-sanctimony lacks the right finesse. Deciphering a genius or a mess. Am I an enigma or a joke? I guess I’ll never know. Fluctuating bad to worse to great. Elevated mind, destructive state. They fear me. Revere me. Both seem inconsequential intentions. I'm questioning "isn’t it great to be a lie?"
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