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Immortal Gasp (Reflection, Part I).

Without knowing why,
you feel as if an archer
is pulling back
on his bow,

that this constitutes
your overall
state of being.

He just holds
it there, steady,
to the tension,

this agonizing pain:
and you?
You are
the fucking Bow.

If you were anything else,
you would have mercy
on yourself eventually.

You would let go.

Options are limited, however.
Free choice?
Not here.

Here, there only resides:
no release.

Its that same feeling
you get right
before making a dangerous leap,
but it is only
that. It is that very moment —

not before,
not after — frozen
in time, caught
in amber, put in a state
of suspended animation.

You live this, all
of it. Endless
fucking tension.

in a sudden
gasp that never


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