The world is made of glass,
weak and easily dirty,
over the time,
exposed to the world,
yet through it all,
stays strong,
through it all,
fading in shine,
yet remains as it is,
but the cracks,
those thin spider wed cracks,
don’t go amiss,
does that mean in the end,
the world falls under pressure,
and the dancing figures,
are lay as prey,
just waiting away to be crush and slice,
or do they and keep the world,
depending on the people,
is the only way,
in knowing,
if this world is strong enough,
to handle what is to come,
fear it and embrace,
that’s we have now,
do so,
or die trying.




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