when none of it was real

the world can sad and empty be 
though days are bright with weather; 
the same as how we disconnected 
although joined together 

the ritual performed as if 
it still contained its meaning; 
like social groups of malcontents 
who still go on convening 

but it was not enough; 
it couldn't be, it couldn't, wouldn't last -- 
how sad the nights can come to be 
when every present given's just 

the past

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