I think that when I’m picking at self inflicted wounds, channeling the dead, dying and dishonored, feeling the full weight of the world’s apathy upon my chest, and bleeding it upon the page…that I’m at my most sane. In fact, I would say that it is during those periods when I sleepwalk through life, filling a role, swallowing back the acid at the rear of my throat with a smile, and become a living currency, an end to a means, that I’ve slipped into an oubliette of depravity. Sublimating the curses and tics of universal verity bubbling up from the magma of my bones is the original sin, that can only be abated by chanting a prayer older than any Hail Mary’s, or Nam-myoho-renge-kyo’s. I am here for but a moment. Allow me to love you, to be loved by you, and to be remembered. I am here for but a moment. Allow me to love you, to be loved by you, and to be remembered. I am here for but a moment…
I love the whole thing, but especially the last lines.
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Thank you, I’m very glad you liked it! The last lines just clicked, like a puzzle piece, so I’m really glad you liked them. 🙂
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I agree with Erroneous above. The last lines were genius.
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Thank you, my friend! That’s a wonderful compliment 🙂
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One you deserve!
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😊
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It’s a beautiful contemplation, Eric. Thanks so much for sharing it.
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I’m glad you liked it, Paul!
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Reblogged this on A Global Divergent Literary Collective.
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Thank you, Kindra!
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You are most welcome my friend! ❤
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