It's like we've all forgotten that everyone else has a soul, too.
Like the entire world has suddenly become so monochromatic that all we know is our internal dialogue--the things we feel and the reasons we do things for--but we're all overlooking that small detail that everyone else has this inner narrator as well.
The ignorance-is-bliss people forgot to mention that we aren't all ignorant--and so one man's bliss may be another's ultimate irritation, or worse...
I spent a month in a rabbit hole--
only to come out and see that everyone else was still in theirs--
like Wiarton Willie, who died two days before Groundhog day, ten years ago...
Instead of pronouncing his death and finding a replacement [surely there are other groundhogs],
they found an old stuffed groundhog [because the latter had visibly begun to decompose], dressed him in a tuxedo, laid him in a coffin and put him on display to ten thousand squealing eight year-olds--who very quickly realized that Wiarton Willie was more stuffed cotton and coin-eyes, than psychic ground-animal...
Who cares? I dare you to ask--
because we all think the rest of the world is oblivious--
we all think that our actions are either futile and unnoticed, or over the heads of the highest reaching top-hats...
we think we're invincible--
to others, to our lives..to our deaths--
we're not. We're visible;
in every sore facet of being--everyone can see--through us, over us,
and in the worst cases--into us.

Everybody has an expiration date--
sore thumbs, they stick out of shirt collars parading up the street;
if we're all so different--if there is such a hierarchy of being,
then why do we all die?
Get over yourselves! I'd like to tell you all--
but then I'd have to get over myself too..
and I'm just not willing to do that, yet.