Sane in an Insane World

Reason drips from my eyes.
It is a slow but steady drip like that of an IV into a sick arm. I’ve been hearing your whispers more and more frequently, whispers of apprehension, whispers of pity or concern, whispers of superiority.
Name your complex.
You think you understand, but you are miles off charts.
Assumptions are made, conclusions are drawn.
The world would be turned upside down if you were burdened with knowing the things which I do.
But that’s okay.
I am enlightened despite your labels.
And I would never turn the tables.


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