I pride myself on being a walking contradiction.
I embody the antithesis of the values I espouse.
My peace lies in complications.
I grasp clarity in the murky depths of the sea.
When I look for the point, it appears as a perfect sphere.
My logic does not follow, it merely unfolds into an patternless mesh.
My robots find meaning in poetry.
My poets struggle to assign meaning to their words.
My masterpiece is a bland imitation.
My copycat envisions a work of genius.
I was not falsely accused, I misunderstood my own intentions.
My happiness is forever.
My ignorance knows its own limits.
I hold my innocence with guilty intentions.
My past has more potential than my future did.
Lethargy is the guiding principle of my productivity.
My bottomless appetite is satiated.
When and only when I mumble am I clearly understood.
Despite my lacking effort, I am accomplished.
In spite of my carelessness, I am invested in this life.
When I speak from the heart, I choke on my words.
When my body intersects yours, we are both cold.
My cloud nine is six feet under; I fly with a spade.
I once thought I could be someone, I still do.
My only persistent trait is attrition.
Someone once accused me of innocence, and claimed I was convicted.
I am lonely in good company.
Clairvoyance comes to me in a crowded room.
I am the architect of my own demolition.
If I could paint a picture, I would do so with graphite.
My wounds pressure me.
My greatest power lacks all jurisdiction.
My limitations know no bounds.
My superlatives are penultimate.
I relish in my own sorrow.
I detest the transience of my own joy.
I wish only for peace through non-violent means.
My middle-ground is home base.
My echo chamber is silent.
My advisors gave up long ago; I still trust them.
I am homeless in my own bed.
My trial's hearing is mute, not deaf.
Persecutors let me chase my own tail.
It's really too bad I don't trip on flat ground.
But I refuse this as the story of my life.
DFWYNLM #186
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