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Waiting
Nothing is real
The grass, trees, sky
They used to be
But now?
They have no connection to what we call
"Life"
They might as well not be there
What's the point?
As the cold envelopes everything
The dark seeps through cracks in sanity
And now...
What now?
No concept of time in this place
Seconds, minutes, hours
All have no significance
Just like everything else
I would draw this world
But my canvas would be empty
Just consciousness,
or unconsciousness?
Does it matter?
Questions
with
no
answers
being asked
out of necessity.
To quell the
need for....
What?
Shadows made with
no light.
Just there.
Or not.
Can't tell anymore.
Too tired to fall asleep
It's quiet
The only sound is my own breath...
No, that's not there either
It stopped, while I could
still see the sun
Before it stopped
shining, warming...
Opposites of this place.
This cold, freezes
from the inside
While the light
leaves your vision
A voice breaks the silence
"Clear!"
Feeling comes back for a moment
Nerves firing a single impulse
One heartbeat
The voice repeats
Louder, forceful
A breath
Another beat, rhythmic now
A rush of blood to the head
and...
life.
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