Today I have a theme. I am cardboard, Earth truly is flat.
We lay, either way, recycled by
the Sun.
If you met him, you would know how he melts rocks
in one gaze. His superpower
is ignited –
and we all will lose.
I eat paper waiting for the fat.
I don’t know if I exist,
and does it matter?
To some, maybe. But then I hear the voices
rushing by something
imaginary.
I guess it’s all about being a pretty rock
on the way to the Sun? Forgive me. I am ignorant.
That’s just not enough.
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