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bereft



I’ve been irritated before
this isn’t it
I’ve been self-pitying before
this isn’t it

there’s a growing prickling
around the back of my skull
pushing me to contemplate
my mortality

Am I done here?

no fucker has the answers
although they’re only too happy
to share the wrong ones

too tired to think now
and too numbed to feel
aware enough to grimace
at suffocating clichés

this is it, when the journey
is pointless and only
the destination holds
the slightest bit of interest
Written by Atakti
Published
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