When vision blurs the stars above, I know
What words I can write cannot make up for
My inadequacies which past best show
In my being being without a core
Set of beliefs I wander in cycles
Of joy and sorrow trying to submit
Through art's guidance to free myself from hell's
vicious delusion, the world's exhibit
Of stress induced self nullification
Devoid of intrinsic disparities,
Floating on Earth's spatial isolation
Those in touch with truth are but rarities
And if I repelled thee by writing too soon
Then I'll never learn the purpose of the moon.

 
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