"Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation."
- Oscar Wilde
Silence. No more.
You cannot talk to everyone one day
And regress into yourself the following.
You cannot plan your poem meticulously
And brush aside the thesis.
You cannot have the desire for many, many friends
If you know you cannot uphold them all.
You cannot be cheerful for an hour,
The life and the soul revelling in false glory,
And sink down into your usual state of numb sadness for four.
Finish these sad habits
And finally make a decision.
Who are you, sad Paradox?
When did you lose yourself?
And how can you retrace those steps
That caused this confusion, this breach
This gaping tear in your identity
And re-find yourself?
You must stabilize yourself, Paradox.
Cement your soul.