vanity makes nomads of the masses. exceptions hide their faces from their phones. watch the currents of the rest of us chase attention through the bardo in and out of dreams to death. waiting in every hall, holding out for breath to wrangle audience from shadows. please witness me. scream louder at mirrors than bombs with peace enough to only fear the former. lost in ourselves in spite of funeral pyres of children. what good are eyes that can't see?
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