More Or Less, It Is The Same

Time goes by.

Like infinity minus one
I am inconsequential to the workings of the world.
The tree that falls in the forest with no one to hear it,
The girl who falls crying
With no one to care.

Hold your breath or hold your tongue.
More or less, it is the same,
The way that time passes without the acknowledgement of past
Or present.

Not caring has become a part of living
Where broken families and broken phones
Are more or less the same.
Not mattering has become the way things are
And is to be accepted, like
Homicide and hate.

Inconsequential we are,
Crumbs of the cake
That is too burnt to be eaten anyways.
We say all things are made of matter
But we don’t know what does.
The world’s skewed axis
Has tilted our perceptions of right and wrong.
More or less,
Good and Evil have become synonymous.
More or less,
It is all the same.

More Or Less, It Is The Same

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