I scared myself with that last poem
as I'm bound to do sometimes
in the crossroads where conscious meets
 metaconscious and pleasure is pain.
There I stare into the blackness with
the luxury of dead time, which is
nothing like waking time in every way
 that's important.
I only feel fear when I can see someone
staring back, and I'm forced to
realize that I'm on both sides, and
 the choices I thought I made aren't
One must have this experience to
claim to know oneself. It is then one
can recognize this claim to be irrefutably
false, in your terms, not debatable.