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Throat burning, lungs being crushed under the weight of a phantom ocean.
Hands, feet trembling with a primordial vibration not yet discovered.
Body sways to a rhythm unrecognizable to one's self. Struggling to keep still.
Struggling to keep at all.
Inhale, start counting down from five. Exhale.
Rinse, repeat hope for something different.
Here we go back into the water.
The top frozen over.
Let’s take a minute to appreciate the rot.
The decay, the slop of flesh, the carrions that lay around you.
Familiarize yourself with it. Appreciate the smell, the look the sound.
This will be your home. This will be you.
Stand still, do nothing but take it all in. Let the scavengers pick and chew.
This is your destiny if you so choose.
Take a moment and laugh, the thought of free will and choice.
It is not there, only an illusion.
An illustration of fiction depicted for you to build a palace of fallacy of hope in
Such a silly little concept letting the juices ripen for buzzards.
Stand down, stand still, close your eyes, dive head first into the dunes of your future.
Hold onto that paper thread. Tiptoe across the canyon. It's a balancing act don't you see. Careful don't look down. Don't look ahead. In fact keep your eyes shut across the gaping mouth of earth's wondrous impurities.
The other side doesn't seem greener in fact all that can be seen is trial. A trial for feeling. Good evening your honor. Persecution is the out come, execute immediately for wanting something more. What a selfish monster. This being, with out a shred of doubt is undeniably a villian. Hold your breath, close those eyes. As we prepare to take aim.
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