Devoid Of Life

Its happening again.

Your vision is a blurry inconsistency.

The deep, dark burn of cheap alcohol proffer an escape into a black cauldron.

Devoid of life.

You’ve once again found yourself in deep waters.

And you’re always so tired.

Sleep and be consumed.

Respite comes in small, gasping undulations.

But don’t damage the palisades meant to usher in comfort.

They remain beautiful, unashamed, and completely oblivious of your guilt.

You’ve broken them down before.

And you’re a bastard for it.

How could you ever ponder your solitude existence in a feigned, dumbfounded stupor?

So herein lies the end all be all of your emotional existence.

A myriad of fragmented requiems left unsung at the base of your broken effigy.

But look at it this way…

At least your medicine cabinet is empty.

Nothing to mark you broken or bleeding.

No one or thing to conspire you into a sacrosanct life of equilibrium.

It’s all so contestable to our infinite existence.

I can’t do this.

And as I gaze down at you from above, I can’t help but realize…

I don’t want to be there.

– 1985 AD


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