Through hassles of life we’re becoming mere duplicates

living someone else’s ,

And I can’t judge when I aren’t living mine right

A double life is variable ,

The things that separate us are usually small

But

a repetition of days, aren’t enough to separate us from a reputation of evil ways

Because now we are

Just a sampling our expectations ,

giving just a sample and not our all

What is expected ?

From clones that are so distant but not so different

connected yet not connecting even in our homes

In the street misinterpretations through our phones

What is really expected?

when you can’t fight feelings of rejection

So many replicas wandering alone

But all suffering from denial like it was injected

What is rare ?

A specimen with no clue or a creation

Questioning from birth of its origin

and from where?

Living like exact copies

Corresponding with the original

Are we loosing our purpose

or simply just loosing out?