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Stairway to No Other Way.

Our personal history
weighs down upon our every present
thought and perception, hiding
beneath every mood,
forever behind all behavior,
at the heart of our fucking everything.

Each of our pasts stubbornly
persist, omnipresent,
driving the future,
gaining weight, evolving structure,
narrowing the cone
of potential routes as it goes
until we are but destined
by prehistory or perhaps reach
the final destination when the clock winds down
as we are cast
six feet beneath, marked with stone,

though could it be that not even the grave
saves us from this situation —
might death be but a transition,
part of a larger pattern
we have built
up through
countless wombs and tombs,
this cycle but another brick to lay
in our stairway to no other way?

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