I can’t predict the future, not like I used to.

Night is a tunnel into tomorrow.


We shuffled along, little steps in the dark.

Eyes strained, as our torches sear our contrasts.

Light to dark, good and evil.

Right from wrong, up and down.

Let our blindness guide us through this,

This land of uncertainty

Your moral ambiguity both intrigues

And heightens me.

Source: spencerdelamore.com

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