This ink as dark as night,
This paper as light as day.
Although these words are dark,
Their colour means no decay.
The paper on the other hand...
Spreads the lies as quick as fire.
And so causes bad names for words,
So people call them liars.
Yet the words themselves never wrote
Their individual meaning twisted too fit.
Clearly it's the papers fault...
That twisted things were writ.
Yet it was never the papers choice,
To be a host too this such ink.
Really the culprit here,
Is the believer who wishes to think.
©Odd
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@Odd
Just a some what "odd" girl, living in what feels like a glass box. Hello Opuss, the savour of my sanity. my little private world amongst a life of being watched and watching.
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