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Ignoring the fact that it has no engineman ,no backup-plan, and it's passengers couldn't keep up.
My life feels like an empty train with no destination.
It's goal is to move away as far as it could with no hesitation .
Maybe I'm supposed to be the one driving.
Yet, I'm not the biggest fan of land, I prefer diving.
Can this thing even be on auto-mode? I see no railroad track.
Blue, green, white and black.
Maybe I should build a submarine instead.
I think I will paint it red.
But to find the manual I most take charge of the train.
What a pain.
Looking at myself in the mirror.
I would wonder how can I see the person within clearer.
I have never thought about the thing residing inside as myself.
It always felt like somebody else.

As a matter of fact, I never seriously tried
to study what's inside.
The fear that I would encounter something unpleasant made me want to hide.
"What is inside doesn't exist tell you look inside." I lied.

I liked to think of my soul like Schrodinger's cat.
Both dead and alive at the same time.
Due to this misperception of mine,
my heart and mind were in endless combat.
Every time
I would take a sneak peek at myself I felt like I have committed a grave crime.

The truth is, I was ashamed of who I am.
An average person, with no heroic purpose.

In order to gain ever so little serenity,
to live in minimum concordance with my identity,
to keep my sanity:
I acknowledged the person within.
But not as an equal to me,
but rather as an outsider.
One who in my eyes portrayed society's collective advice.

Yet there was my heart and mind as well.
The old foes.
To this unbalanced couple, my soul became the third wheel.
I think it's fair ​to say that I live in chaos. In constant doubt.

Such a life can be tiring.
But to constantly be on the lookout for contradiction can also be inspiring.
In this mayhem of mine.
I found a home, which I like to call: "myself".
In a stranger that you call « yourself » you can find your best friend.
life is so much more,
a complexe of sentiments and souls;
Whic­h we stupidly choose to ignore.
And­ rather play our mortal role.
Nevertheless, it is no excuse,
to dim the flame of one's soul.
Let your spirit on the loose.
But not to become beyond control.
Standing in the middle of an old telephone booth all alone.
Distantly listening to that dialing tone.
Knowing that no one will be on the other side of the phone,
Because they are long gone.

She was the only home I have ever known,
But now she is just flesh and bone.

How could she leave so early?
Her who loved the world so purely?
Her who treated me so fairly.
Her whom I've loved so sincerely.

Tears filling my eyes,
Only to realize,
That what we had was everything but lies.

But now it’s already too late.
For in our last call, I stupidly hurled out hate.
On the endless freedom of an adult, I dwell.
With gleaming eyes, I yell:
"Can't wait to get older."
Naively neglecting the fact that as I grow older, my body and soul will molder.
"When I'm older, I will change the world!"
as I got older, the white flag of surrender unfurled.
The golden book of Machiavel:
the philosophy that opened the door to hell.
Although it's as shallow as a shell.
It rang in the ears of politicians like a bell.
To put it in a nutshell;
manipulation is the key
to gain all treasures your eyes can see
a dictator you most be.
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