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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #2109566
A look into the eyes of a twisted stranger who looks back from the mirror
All That There Is

“Who am I?” to answer I refuse,
Because even my disguise is a ruse.
I walk among you, mostly unseen,
Doing things vile, obscure, and obscene.
As a singular, insignificant person who can,
I bring nothing productive, just a non-descript man.

Alone I may care, but it amounts to not,
In numbers, I'm less likely to get caught.
The preacher will speak, if only for one,
'Cause it’s more effective than speaking to none.
“Who am I?” again you pester and persist,
I’m here, then I’m gone, a breeze though the mist.

Thousands may die in a war, that’s the toll,
Lives lost because a few chose their roll.
Singularly, I am no one, I'm collectively none,
No head to take off, I can’t be undone.
Combined, I am every mister and miss,
As a whole, I am all that there is.

Thus, you and them make up us and me,
Countless billions of eyes help me see,
See the atrocities I do to myself, in a fashion,
Suicide's a social crime of premeditated passion.
Look around... we are killing myself.
See the truth... I am killing our self.
© Copyright 2017 A.P. Kinnaman (apkinnaman at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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