To Pretend

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A bleak outcome greets,
For each major action.
Days drag themselves,
Without satisfaction.

The question burns at the tip,
Answer resolved to never show.
Life is what one makes of it,
What does one make of it, though?

Faces are painted with curiosity,
And fear.
Glad that the future changes,
And the answer doesn't appear.

Individuality is a lie,
Every one knows the end,
The road is scented, but,
For those who learn to pretend.

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