DUES EX MACHINA //the lattice crumbles
I //skrit skrat// black ink on stained paper like a Mickey Mouse vibrator-- a vague circle waiting for a truth that will never come.
Sick. Sad. Worried.
A cold breeze of omen blows between pawn and rook.
The *** -- and meaningless feverish unknown. Why must we sink like honey into milk. I am not warm.
Why must you disolve alone- empty as I am?
Perhaps I am the one who does not exist.
"You can't escape what makes you tragic, you know."
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