Not entirely true as I weigh, sift, lumber, through thick muds
Looking for steady footing
Some, immersed in their own, claim to know how I feel, proceed
To submerge me. Decked in their momentary drama, have no idea,
really. I say nothing
For in this passing into death is a line of kind so crossed
Comparisons, however well imagined are not genuine, one continues
The other not
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