What a hollow charade this mortal life,
the unsuspecting lure of what never will become.
Is it all not for the faint of mind?
Pardon my intrusion upon this god forsaken land.
Is it too much to ask even for a moment of your precious time?
Love is the folly by which all other lies must compare.
Our end is the stalker,
waiting like an impatient child
dressed in Misery,
and despair.
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