am i more of afraid of what i do or what i don't know
the ocean outside or the leak in the boat
the action, the reaction, the prescriptive anecdote
the violent silence or the hum of a darkly haunting choke
are we two too terrified to be around ourselves
inside shells we hide on shelves like unread books
who long to be cracked and spilt upon the minds
of unselfish introspection
and blinking, blinding looks
perchance a glance at truth could tell
how far, how utterly far we all fell
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