No Know

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I don’t know why I’m writing this.

I don’t know why I don’t know why.

Could it be because how and why?

I don’t know why I’m so unsure of myself.

Myself probably hates myself.

I don’t know why I’ve never felt love

and no you can’t give me a hug.

I don’t know why life makes no sense,

maybe I should’ve been born a fish.

I don’t know why I choose to write,

could it be because my thoughts keep me up at night.

I don’t know why flowers must ever die.

I’m sorry something so beguiling is often so easy to pass by.

I don’t know who I’m writing this for,

but I hope whoever finds it discerns a little piece of my soul.