Don’t worry
Whether we exist or not,
Basking in Plato’s Cave,
With the illusion
Shadows are real,
But some people
Can’t shut off
The light switch,
Drowning in the hum
Of words deep into
The dark of night
Or predawn morning
The buzzing in your hears
Makes for a higher fever
Not quite numb
The mania of our lives
Spilling over
Into our waking world,
I envision you
In that cold bed alone,
calculating your existence,
by the number of entities
that tumble around
in your head,
shadows on the ceiling
and the walls,
leaping down at you
with every passing
set of headlights,
which we are lead
to believe as real,
Was Plato right
Dragging us out of our caves
Exposing us to things
We can’t possibly believe,
Blinded by a light so bright,
We can’t possibly
Mistake it for anything else,
We wishing we could
Slip back under our
Lonely covers,
Safe, snug,
But completely mistaken
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