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I feel nothing, nada,
When I browse through all the faces in my time.
Sunny ones, smiling kinds, contented minds,
Adventures hide inside their green eyes.
People are strangers without their thin masks;
They wear them to pose a split second sign
To create an idea of what happy is,
Or what it is supposed to be;
Whatever it is supposed to mean.
After the moment passes them by,
They return to their waiting ennui
In a bothering bed of blues.
They pose a place they know nothing of,
Their face they wouldn’t recognize
If they were to stare into their own lives
From their anxious beds.

They are not my life,
I am not theirs,
And yet they are there
Walking in plain sight.
I am not tempted to be them,
I am tempted to be more of me,
And I still flip in hopes to find
Me in one of those pages
To know, I wish to know,
What a mirror is supposed to show.

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