Perception


You wither with time,

faces flip.

When you look inside,

the soul slips.

Changes are momentary,

the basics are fixed.

The corroded brain of yours,

insides, all sipped.

A glass of wine,

or a pint of rum,

gushes down smooth.

and you see a world,

not so true.

The world perceived,

is where I belong.

The world perceived

belongs in you.

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