The world is drowned by the pain and confusion of our minds,
to the reality of ourselves we must unwind.
May the future overcome our predictions,
and lies beneath the whispers of toturious happenings.
May some of this not make sense to you,
but to the world of poetry it is so true.
I may not be a perfect poet,
but i have perfection hidden in my secret talents.
I hope this poem is real to your head,
because at the end we all will end up dead.
The Art Institute of Gaia.
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