The world can see you; it chooses not to.

I see you, you faux intellectual, standing on the shoulders of cardboard giants; you craftsman of the most pleasing of indulgences, feeding the egos of your likeminded kin. In all the din, you sit alone in the dark; never seeing, feeling, or hearing. Does the world you inhabit have any weight? There is existence outside of your imagination. There is a world beyond your crumbling screenplay, though you can't look past that wall of mirrors. You will crumble in your glitter; your playhouse. I can see what you have wrought. I can feel it trying to move me, but I am a statue. Do you think that I will follow because I agree with you? Does it matter to you why I agree, or do you just revel in my assumed support of your brutish screams? I am more than your audience. I am your judge and your jury. I can see you; I choose to. Does this nightmare offer your mental fetish the relief it craves, or are you truly impassioned? Be truthful with yourself, and you will find it leads you to be truthful with others. Until you can accept what you are, your inability to change will remain an insurmountable obstacle. You cannot change who you are. But you don't even know who you are. You are nobody; you are everybody; you are what you are told to be because you refuse to be what you need to be. You see the road less traveled as your own, yet you don't realize that the road untraveled is the path to the core of your being. I speak, however, to stone ears. You will not understand me. Your very nature defies all that I stand for. You will see me as what you want to; a means to your end. You will pretend that my words are the supports to your cause. You will pretend to be changed. But you will be the same as you were when you encountered me. You will not, can not, change. Thus, I pity you.

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