Free thought

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 25, 2018

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Submitted: July 25, 2018

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I want them to suffer.

 

I want them to live.

 

To live life,

To feel life hitting hard in the dead winter cold of the night.

The excitement is alluring; appeasing.

Nothing stands for comparison.

Nothing moves faster than the watchful eye of the weary traveler, gnawing for tomorrow's breath of scum.

The toxicity beared forth is agonizing to witness, painful to even think of, and cruelly, honestly, brutally, crudely true.

Let's cheer to that!

Let's toast!

Another wave of scoundrels come into light, obscuring the darkness.

The world is ready to greet them.

It placed "Hello's", "Farewell's", and "Goodbye's" unwillingly.

At the first sight.

How they came to be no one knows, as they're dead meat of dead worms for hungry birds to ravenously eat.

Still, it's hard to breathe,

Surrounded by sights of the such.

The low version of them at least.

You know, with budget cuts and torn careers.

But still, I want them to eat.

To breathe.

To endulge.

What stops who from doing that?

Who or what stops that from doing this?

Why?

You're disrupting the circle...

Nevermind.

It will be back soon.

And worse, of course.

Just that you'll be long forgotten by then, buried in sand, ash of stray tree ventured into quicksand.

March forth brave soldier;

witness the telling story of the brazen perfect, on repeat.

Forever.

Of course others know you well.

They were all watching.

You will now watch too.

The telling story, of the brazen perfect, on repeat.

It doens't change.

It can't change.

The crew is the same, the setting is the same, and the motive is almost always the boring same.

But it's fun.

They see the joys of the living, and curse their cursed existence from their cursed point of view.

They're blessed though...

Ah, the ever-flowing river of agony and hate, blissful companionship to a bitter heart of stone, cracked and uneven.

Despicable. Despisable. Desperate for it.

They suffer, because they can feel, and they fell, and they fall.

May the gods be pleased.

It's troublesome....; to bear witness. 

But that's the way of things.

Or is it?


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