Fine tandems of life between days and nights
follow the supposed liturgy of the one who writes the lines.
Necros and Via, centers of the plausible dichotomy in which we revel.
Final actions become the beginning for what we attempt to do,
As these beginnings
These new beginnings
Rattle on about the importance of faithlessness to those who do not believe in faith
But how can one believe such things
The nonexistence of a thing proves its existence
For how would I know truth does not exist, if I did not know what truth was?
Or how could I know what it is like to see, though I be born blind?
Blind babies, a tragedy.
How can this occur?
If we all think happy thoughts, and pacify our need for the dire and grim,
How can a baby be born blind?
Bad beginnings?
Broad byways becoming barren?
Brutal beatings upon an uncaring mother – beatings done by herself?
Banishment becomes brilliance because bastards blame biological behaviors.
Bees. The sweetness they create.
Though they do not exist.
My disbelief in their existence proves their reality.
But don’t trust me.
You do not believe in faith.
Your faith in nonfaith belies your thought process
And radiates the ignorance that becomes you.
Llamas.

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