to be obscure is to be misunderstood mostly

and to be understood is to be normal

but which normal is reality?

when lives change so often and backgrounds differ so slightly

of course no one is the same, but how different are we?

and when do i consider myself unique amongst a group of unique people

perhaps that is just a lie we tell ourselves

for in the facets of all of our minds lie the same unanswered questions

about life and death and the will to go on and necessary apathy

because we can’t live with the truth

of the suffering and the hungry and the innocently dead


we get through it all by being a good person

and loving our family and working hard, sometimes

one time. just one time, think about the less fortunate

thanksgiving and christmas and a new years, new faces, new goals, new places

if we all think it, then does it make it normal? or the same?

every year, repeated, insane

and the suffering still die hungry whilst we throw food away

rants, a train of thought gone a little too far

but honestly never far enough

because sometimes people NEED offending

if i shoot your children, and burn down your houses, and steal your food

you’ll know what pain is

then apathy will be a fond memory in the chaos of it all

outside of normal, inside of reality

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