Tortured

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Can you distinguish between thoughts and being
Or are you stuck thinking with René?

And what poor reflections are there to latch onto
In Gauguin’s Yellow Jesus tattooed on my back?

Don’t you know that the seeker is falling away
And big secrets have lost their appeal?

I’m sorry this isn’t enough for you

But
Run from the farm like Henry
Run to the woods like Andrea
Perhaps you’ll be invisible there
And tell me how it feels
To finally be real

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