Oh, God, this inadequacy feeling!
Are these words only accidents?
Is my mind a dead scroll?
My tongue a false preacher?
Leading self to eternity’s flame.
If I keep digging, maybe there is something there.
If I keep fingers flighty.
If I envision poignant prophecies.
Maybe something will unfold from this tight-knit tomb.
Do I think my ideas dying and dead?
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