existential thought

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I read a poem to my dad. He said he didn't understand. And it was too long. I didn't understand that. He doesn't know big words. He asks me the meaning. Of that one word. I know the word.
Riding in trees,  Falling off treatise,  Gendering yearning souls,  Trying the caste of cells,  Postering high miracles, 
I don't know... I can't shake the preening feeling... That I'm not really living... And even though it's not a physical pain- It's a dull persisting ache- And even though no one else is living
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