We are but a tenacious
ghost in a machine
haunting some
locus of control
spinning round the days
to the whims of stars
like a ball
to a pole

If there is
a reality
no one could see it
the same
we jest:
how do you know my green isn’t your blue?
we scratch our heads
thoughts colored by
forming different impressions
of the incident

At the end of the day
we live two separate days

Everybody is
but ever hear your voice recorded?
it sucks
do you really sound
that stupid?

Each brain wired unique
when a sentient, feeling being emerges
from the magic of these wires
differences may be nuanced
like the ways we enjoy food,
or dramatic
like race, age, gender identity
socioeconomic status

No reality is the same
nobody knows what the fuck
is really going on
but the ones who do the best job
of making us think they do
are the ones that we remember

We’re grown-up kids
on the edge of an abyss
it’s all just a game

What is truth?
whatever you think it is
believing is seeing
we are what we choose