The Discrepancy

Cynical Wordsmith

There’s a decrepitness
And a discrepancy
Inside my mind,
Entombing this old soul.

I wish I could be
Innocent again,
Ignorant of life
And all that comes with it.

I wish I didn’t think
And expect the worst,
But it’s simply experience,
Repitition and ingrained outcomes.

But how does one double think?
How do I know something
To be true and not true?
I suppose it’s just like the lies
I tell myself everyday.

Upon reflection,
I’d wager a guess
That it’s just my beliefs,
That inner cynic,
That dictates my truth.
That simple truth,
That life can always be better.

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