FrameA broken frameSo dull and frailUpon the bedroom floorA brilliant view of youthful DreamsIs cracked, withered, and worn.Who am I?What am I?Why am I?No.It's not a simple question with a simple answer though.We need someForm ofConformity So stop and act your ageElseWe run the risk ofSounding outOur own mutedmutual rage. There exists a placeSo close to youThat only you canSeeIt lies within the realm of Lies and shared reality. So Place your faded views of Life, love, and YourselfBack into its broken frame and back upon the shelf.
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