This appears like a lost, a lost of the obvious and a lost of what
Wasn't so obvious
It strips away all respect you had for the colorings of the dream (play)
Nothing is really believed in anymore
The efforts of striving and becoming someone, keeping something
Going is way too much to ask now, it's not really possible
Everyone you once looked up to, idolized, all that goes
It's too much hard work to think what happened 5 minutes ago, never mind
Anything before that
I have no past and whatever is showing up like there is a past, pictures
People, sounds ect, ect
None of it is believed in or even as any resonating with, it's a past for a ghost
All the tips of the play, excitement, knowing something, development, becoming
Better are too tiresome to think about, never mind trying to make those apparent improvements
This is a ruthless love, nothing is in the way for it arising, being as it is
No one gets anything or loses anything
This is the end of pretending to be someone
