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Blackout.

Feel myself slipping and so I go find
my anchor, a conditioned
reaction to such an easily accessible
stimulus. Go, kill myself

a little more, blinded by bliss just
long enough to miss
the funeral, rise muddied yet virgin
to the shit that drives
me to all this the following morning:

awake enough to push on,
asleep enough to do so
fully aware that it is all done
without clear reason.

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