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Not desiring death yet. Not yet. Still floating in the running black river where all dies.

What have we done to deserve this? The tears don’t understand they only flow into the river hoping a stronger current will revive us if only temporarily. 

All the hopes of doing things and becoming someone drain down our pipes. A sewage system perfected for our disease. 

Not desiring death yet. But maybe hypersomniac cravings to escape the life that we can’t reach and the apathy that envelops us. The dreams can end up being nightmares but it doesn’t matter as long as we’re free of choosing; to merely wander in another world no matter how deadly is our only salvation.

Is this the end? Not quite. Not desiring death yet. The black river still runs and despite floating hopelessly, we can still feel the rushing water around us and hear its life. 

When will this end? When the desire for death outweighs our attachment to things we no longer believe in. When the desire for death defeats our fear of losing things we can still feel. When death becomes more than a way out. When death becomes the way.

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