Below a poem written about a year ago. The background in which it was written looks so afar that I begin to believe in what David Hume said. Maybe there's really no such a self that never changes.
Shovel up their hearts
It's the way to leave the hurts apart
So as to deny all the fresh feelings
Say adieu to the afterglow beaming
Stack up the wall
Shun to become so-called an enfant terrible
Confined are the emotions to the cage
Saved are the betrayed on the brink of rage
In a world that's ever changing
They're taught to neglect truth gleaming
For honesty with colors grim
It's replaced with a mask of duty-cling
Farewell his once fervent soul
Rerouted he's back onto the dull road
Hanging over a question bold
Why we always hurt the dearest the most
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