You know why you're using it.
You think it serves a purpose,
your purpose.
But you're wrong.
It's the other way around.
It's using you.
You are its purpose.
And it won't stop
until you are consumed,
transformed into it's essence,
an image so translucent
it masks even living, breathing forms.
Though the sun is eclipsed by the moon,
you cannot become one with it
In the end, you will cease to exist,
and will be remembered only as its use.
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