Nothing—ness operates this shell of mine.
The emptiness,
flooding useless chatter.
The mindless narratives morph into chaos.
The voices are not ours,
our mind is their power.
They imitate
we create,
we gave it away.
It’s like the wizard
tinkering the clock,
twisting and turning
the thoughts that don’t come,
the timing unyearning.
Long for the end,
use it up.
Ignore the voices
avoid the light,
turn the other way.
We see the lifting veil.
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