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Cycles in the Abyss.

Hiding in good and bad dreams,
a poisonous slumber ends.
Bolting awake.

Cold sweat cleansing
the filth of my cage.

Out my hands.
Its the law of the land.
Tombs to wombs,
love to loss,
set spinning again.

Seems it never ends.

I know how it goes.
Seen how it spins, never to wind down,
still living the nausea
of this not-so-merry-go-’round.

Doomed to die before I get it all done,
wander around without skin till
I find my way back through.

Blind as a bat.
Lost at sea.
Implicit holds
as innervison fades from me.

We are the enactment
of our own secret histories,
mistaking our masque for our face,
these echoes for the present
life we fail to lead.

Like an existential hiccup,
perpetual deja vu again.
Eternal endurance
of the same old game.

Well, let’s change it up
and make death die.
Through the lethargy,
seething, alive.

It was never about silent hearts
and rotting flesh,
but the miserable eclipse
of the inner eye.

Amnesia is the only death.
The reaper harvests the mind.

Me and my bootleg memories,
a step on the road
towards consciousness,
I suppose.

Eyes slowly opening,
waking up to the ruse.
Find the still of the calm
behind the push and pull,
a new way to fight
an achievable goal.

If I just were not so bloody
frightened of me,
aching to hide behind
the veil of this sleep…


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