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Is this regret
As real as a sigh
Or is it just
A figment of my
Symbiotic perception;
I have a mistrust for my own revelations.
You mould me
Too fit; or so they exclaim:
I don't know
What's Right or Wrong
Or if I exist beyond their words
But then perhaps
The mortal struggle
Of endless confusion by living day
Is testament to their influence.
Only death is the eternal Truth;
For now I just embrace your memory,
Itself as immortal
As our breeding.
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