You collect and craft your syllables so artfully.
Gilded, euphonious, vowels.
Yellow plated half-truths.
Words are empty mason jars
Hollow, vacant, unoccupied
Stacked side by side like the royal guard.
They're just sounds.
Without actions, gestures, implications.
Fragmented non-facts.
A point well-made is worthless
without authenticity.
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