I was once myself

a mind, still generating and formulating, adding and subtracting ideals

wrong and rights have no place, as perception stimulates with new emergence

the product brought forth being but a human child, an offspring of covet and lust and desire

already equipped with the knowledge of a thousand suns, and an unbiased judgment of it's kin 

a clean slate, tainted through the millenniums, by brothers and sisters of their own calculations

as one becomes the making of many, whispers of times before erase the probability of ever becoming thine own self

and as years go by, we lose sight of who we were, before time ever had a chance to conceive us

and we sit here in confusion, as the voices taunt us from the grave, wishing for a time when we could be nothing but ourselves

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