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we awoke one morning to find
we had become unreliable narrators of our own lives
our homes once familiar to us
became ghost palaces
fruit ate itself
doors opened then closed in empty rooms
curtains brushed across guitar strings on windless days
flowers blushed
our lives were gaslighting us
still we arose
bathed dressed ate
sunlight greeted us
guided us to work
screens needed viewing
communication remained electronic
but the foundation had changed
was changing
were we entering a new dark age?
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