The intrinsic value
Of a flightless bird
A hole within space
Infinite and abysmal
indescribably undefined
I grope for my soul
An imaginary man
With invisible footsteps
With no past and no future
I sit here on doorsteps
Doorsteps leading to doors
With no passage
Just doorknobs, hinges, brick walls
And static
I move with the grace and the pace
Of a man with no purpose
Devoid of objective
Amounting to worthless
I glide through the cacophony of life
With no one on my arm
This yellow brick road
Is tattered and worn
My eyes make no contact
My breath marks no air
my voice makes no sound
I withdraw to my lair
Where I simply exist
Although debatable that
Like mist in a cage
I choose to be trapped
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