Enter OcclusionMature

Brash sensory has resolved a former flaw in my attempt to be rid of this;
Sudden dissettlement it filters all experience had, as ever.
I'm lucid dreaming; I sleep of no reason, won't wake when I can.
Anxious and tickling ideas of ever seeing again,
Granted- I would keep your distance if,
I'm at a loss as well, as you, yes;
We've entered occlusion, return is no option now.
I think I've bottomed out, confusing open ground-
With room to spare and continue unfamiliarized,
By every set of eyes that pry a fleeting glimpse of mine.
I look to confirm terrain, but avoid the rest in due to-
Everlasting shame on you and on me of course,
Am I wrong in that we have achieved;
Max capable of excuses, they're useless- so why have one for every occasion?
None is enough, this certain entitlement to progress is killing us off.
Fuck social thought, evoking the notion we grow when we talk,
Or we don't when we're not.

The End

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