Within the boundless void of the I
Through the filters of endless writings
I slide, oppressively drifting
Yet alone, I feel divided
Incurable...
This pulse...
Is this the blood of a tyrant?
Or maybe a prophet's?
Is this vital poison the lymph of a worm?
The fathomless crappy hole of consciousness, I design
Like anal introspection, falling inwards
A regression to existence's upheaval, I cut
The slice of dereliction, tumbling backwards
Lost?
Within myself?
This is an actor's debt to reality...
Offering promises of heavens
While hell's rotten tongues are still licking my mask
Falling inside, in vain, seeking with fear
The warm empty darkness of eternal slumber

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