This post is plagiarized, no?

Smudged histories blend into one another as we sat lovelorn
In an untidy room filled with bright colours, yet colourless souls.

The guitar strumming in the background grew louder
Every passing minute as our eyes stayed fixated, a constant.

The chords sung an unheard melody, the heart skipped a beat
Like the relevance was undeniable. Everyone had same stories
They just told them differently: distorted people, shaded memories..
The world spun faster when we learnt we are fragments of reimaginings
Unoriginal as they can be. There was no truth to us, yet so much significance.

The classroom in the next day's sunshine seemed to move slowly
Each word weighed against another: what's loaded and what's not.
What's right and what's not. Who's here and who'll never be.
If you even existed or you were lie. The farce of life, the truth of us:
We are all plagiarists and no software can ever prove otherwise.

Our stories are never our own, we owe more than we own:
Nothing is ours, never believe it is. It is a lie, so is every story ever told.