I have forgotten how to read
Since the day I started to write.

When I endeavour to peruse again,
My writer's soul silently fades away.

I'm stuck in a bizarre quandary
Inferior to infer some judgement.

Help me, my inner conscience
It's high time, break your silence.

Should I begin to decipher
The lucid gestures of others'

Or should I, now, stop limning
The saga of your failure to love me?

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