"We don't know ourselves" (Nietzsche).
Kind of like a book with no shelves.
The book has nowhere to go.
And he can't grow.
Introspection makes the book insane.
He is so contingent on the fast lane.
The book knows that
He will never ever get looked at.
He used his a posteriori knowledge
That he was getting thrown out of college.
His past experiences makes him figure out
that his information is useless, without a doubt.
He gave up on his gleam of light.
The book's moral philosophy was right.
The words on his pages were lame.
And that brought him much shame.
In fact, the book doesn't know himself.
Just like Santa didn't tell Buddy the Elf
That he wasn't the same as the others.
His information wasn't like another's.
He was okay with living like this.
Even if a human didn't want to give his pages a kiss.
