the ennui
styled
a journey since
between two ends
it must be seen
as the end of
the purpose itself
of end as
the purpose itself
fishing wishing cycles
why not be riddled
by doubt in the meaning
that is sufficient but
never enough
stare stare at the ceiling
on all sides
there are mirrors
oh you know that thing
when you are in a box
above a raging deep sea
worried only about
your breathing your heart
beating so loudly
oh suicide so proudly
distress of a prestige nightly
handcuffed on the shore
from where into the waters
the key was thrown
therein you drown
till you should pop
your head out
and all would hail
a miracle
bread and butter for you
that no one knows
when is the last time
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