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Category: Writing and Poetry

heart's sludge

I’m still aching, even after all that I have now.

A midnight visitor, not unlike the small mammals that lurk around my presence, but one that’s been gnawing at my flesh. A parasite that drags me deeper into the sea of anguish and distraction.

No work is ever done when the heart is addicted. No progress is ever made when I’m trapped in the arms of someone that provides no relief, but a living substance I cannot stop consuming. A toxin in my life that I wish to quit but the mind is a primitive thing and I feel as if I cannot survive without it.

The last time I was in solitude I almost failed to make it out, were it not for love. How can I, then, expect to survive?

Nothing dawns on me these days. I sit in misery and inject into my consciousness mindless media day after day, hoping that spark of creativity will knock on my door instead of you.

I’m not living, but was I ever?

I ask the elders around me, I ask the veterans of time what I should be doing and they merely laugh in my childish questions. I ask about my future and what I should do, because I am only so young, and they give me brittle words that only make the misery taste sweeter.


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