Like a lifeless corpse which flees
from the graveyard
of our former existence are we.
Shapeshifting realities,
only to find they are dead inside
and we are the living,
they but react to us for appearance
they have no souls.
Like a machine - you press a button
and it but creates
what it was supposed to make,
a change of clothes
and they believe what they want
it to believe it be,
and we breathe into eachother
the Akhs of life.
For a thrall is only to realize
you were dead
but suddenly you can breathe
and touch the air;
from the dead tomb of things
we dug our way out;
our bodies are only the tools
of consciousness.
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