Can you taste the waste?Days and days of endless daze.
Too consciously unaware we get a taste
of a tortuous path not seen as maze.
Because mice we are not and there’s
no quest for crumbs and cheese.
Yet secretly we escape inside the wheel
and run while exteriorizing ease.
Make-believe we turn the page,
that there are no walls, no cage.
The taste, it stings in your fingers like a bee,
then rises to the tongue so you don’t have to agree.
Don’t you see? No books will save you
from your own history.
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