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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #525211
The substance of existence
Just to be
Is no longer enough
Though I once thought it was

I long for better
But all I find is worse
Can things not improve?

Losing my morals
I long for simple clarity
Still, I find no direction

I need more
But I’m making myself less
And will slowly run out

Then, left almost empty
I must beg the question
Or not to be?

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