Blurring the lines between fiction and fact
was once a mere figment of literary expression,
a warning about faith that numbs neurons
until we go metaphorically blind.
Funny how quickly the night has changed;
between metaphors and machine-forged metaphysics,
everything screams for literal obedience.
Fact is fiction. Fiction is fact.
And progress, if you call it that,
is a palindrome
gnarling at cobwebs of imagined binaries,
while the world mistakes logic for meaning.
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