Like dancing particles and new waves,
truth and words slightly entangle,
together they create an ultra reality,
of course the grinning lairs lie and commingle.
With the suddenness of a bad haircut,
epiphanies creep in and outwardly crawl,
it’s easier to believe in comfortable lies,
than admit to the hopelessness of it all.
Our souls are in need of repair and soothing,
there is only one way for this to be done,
they’ve been torn and thrown into oblivion,
superposition is two that become one.
Love conquers little to almost nothing,
except in the realm of our feeble mind,
to find that real someone is rare indeed,
it’s when we stop looking that we finally find.
dead beat poet 