𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐀

𝐈𝐍𝐊

I live in old faded pages,

Yellowing and worn out.

Even in a familiar image,

We hold these same old doubts.

Lost in fantasy,

Hiding from harsh reality.

Unseen in speculation,

Exploring a strange virtuality.

It's a world of paper,

Swirling in ink.

Astray in delusion.

Can't hear myself think.

Returning from reverie,

Is dismayed verity.

Though we crave fanciful illusions,

We know it's impossible in corporality.