The illusory density placing us here when there we are,
the manifested illusion misplacing us here and there,
the naive hopelessness resigning us here without permission from over there.
The illusional look searching constantly until we appear,
the illusion of sadness yelling thinking we will disappear,
lost illusions waiting for us abandoned.
The disillusionment facing a life
fed by inventions, sustained on lies and of fears dressed,
stalks sanities hiding in dementia to undress them.
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