The Antipathy For Ourselves

I’ve never been one to listen to the voices in my head.

Slithering and coiling about like leviathans consuming each other.

None of them have ever been guile.

And heartache has followed every whispered sentiment from scaled, corroded mouths.

There is a dark substance surrounding our thoughts; its sustenance.

Fast moving automatons.

A denial of failures left in the folds of our psyche.

Of value and in pain.

It is imminent; our intent to implode.

Those secretions it values more than the truth through tight-pursed lips.

Up ahead, a void of misconceptions.

The antipathy for ourselves and our own existence defines this era.

Malcontent forever the endeavor.


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