The Wrong Intuition

Endless buckets
Of freezing cold water
Thrown in my face
And dumped over my head.
Hard won truth,
Real talk,
And vanished illusions
Subconsciously absorbed
To be tearfully reconciled.

The scale lilts
Teetering between justice
And blind faith,
Overheard whispers
And misunderstandings.
When your guts alert
A trill of panic:
Proof you were wrong all along.
Fool.

The position of The Hanged Man,
Gleefully upside down,
Resting on his crown
With a smile,
Ignorant or blissful?
That’s anyone’s guess.
He’s stagnant
And in free fall
Unquestioning the present.

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