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Red-Blooded Abyss





How do I dispel these thoughts of implosion? They well up from a source so deep, gushing like a concentrated burst of water, hitting the pit of my stomach and ricocheting as they pierce through my organs causing irreversible damage. A boa constrictor coils around my mind, slowly squeezing out my essence, taking away my ability to be dazzled by the rays of a rising sun or by the sweet melancholy of a setting one, leaving me neutral to the beauty that the flowers littering my surroundings exude. The one feeling that remains is pain as I drown pathetically in my apathy, wishing for tears or joy, for love or hate, desperately reaching out for the fading light of feeling that I see slipping further and further away from my frantic grasp. I nostalgically remember the days when genuine sadness could pierce my heart and when a home-cooked meal made me feel at home, when I felt that there could be nothing darker than my despair; I now know that there is a worse fate, to be filled to the brim with an emptiness that threatens to overflow. If I cannot feel then why do I live?


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