“Question Everything”– a poem by Brooke Boddie

Turns out the person I was talking too was dead

Had no flesh

No heart. No skin. No soul.

I couldn’t be be more literal.

I heard the voices,

but it turns out I was talking to myself..

The lights were on, but no one was home.

Theres an art to overthinking.

Even the truth is based off of lies.

You probably like your woman all covered up,

but the truth is

you like to indulge in whats open and available.

No one ever talks about the idea that even the red pill,

has fragments of blue in its genetic makeup.

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