I am not what I seem, and never was;
When I appeared to you brightest and best
It was some sort of microcosmic test
To teach you what a real good person does.
It was not me, not even then, because
There is no good - nor evil - in my breast.
No, I am nothing wholly, and the rest
Will contradict the part. I simply buzz
By everything, not touching down at all,
Avoiding being, so I only seem.
I am no more than my own waking dream
Made of facades that only stand to fall.
And what is hidden in there? I can't tell.
I've never looked behind them when they fell.
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