You can feel it as i speak
By the way i write when you read
That it is weird to be in your shoes
To infiltrate your mind, to see the truth
To experience the unique existence of being you.
But it is sort of sad
That with each visit i get mad
By the lack of trust
And the hate we take to tolerate love.
And we love ,but not ourselves
And we explore the void in search for help.
But i say Empathy is a lie
We must depend on each other
For the future to be bright
Fellowship won't be experienced untill you unite with the other.
Words Of Harfouchism.
What you think might help
— The End —