Why does it search for meaning?

Can it not be, and just be.

For good parts of my conscience

Are now a part of it.

Why does it reek of gluttony?

That, and a thirst for jealousy.

Neither mine nor your conscience

Know of its objectives.

Why does it plead for cleansing?

A purity that is unattainable by the knowing.

The vast expanse of my conscience

Denies the approval of its existence.

Why does it destroy that of its kind?

Praising the Devil’s attire.

Level the grounds of its conscience

And commence drama; havoc.

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