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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: March 18, 2019

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Submitted: March 18, 2019



A sublime calmness, the likes of which i havnt felt often nestled its way into the crevices of my mind as i strolled about carelessly. I cant say why exactly but a suspicious eye would say perhaps i had grown tired of lifes games. In realising the trivialities are only codepenent illusions i am released of my suffering without blinking. If i ever get nervous i can shut the door on it like an unwelcome house guest that never gives back. If only at night i could slumber, only deeper would be to stop thinking and to stop thinking would be to not exist.

Like a stone in a river we are flawed and our only maker be our minds at work on our living.
Like my mind be a busy mother in the kitchen,
Or a student on a math problem,
Or the skeletons creaking like old old metal wheels turning behind the doors of a darkly lit closet.

Although happiness filled my gut and my head that day, the night before i could not sleep; and tonight i think of you. 
By work though, the spine of my existance - being the ability to to look over my fence and see that the grass is greener in that place, now i can rest.

© Copyright 2019 spud2. All rights reserved.

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