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Mar 2016
I left my bed
With the hope
That I'd be given
Plenty of rope.
My dream disposed,
I'm left in debt
Thanks to all the
Dumb things I've said.

I brought my gun,
But my friends
Seemed to have pockets
With holes in them.
I have a grin--
A Yankee one--
Because at last,
My eyesight's gone.

Light lets us see
What darkness made;
Still, I swallow words
I need to say.
Oh aspartame,
You've beaten me
And you kept
Your dignity.
I've decided to write about my numbness and apathy over the past few days. I've been in a very dark place--even by my standards. It's not the crushing depression that has afflicted me so often that haunts me most, it's the lack of haunting, the lack of manic highs and detrimental lows that is most troublesome. I've come to terms that there's never going to be a revolution, at least in my lifetime; the millennial generation is too caught up in trivialities to care. Is it bad that I want to see all we know tarnished and razed? Is it bad that I'm ready to give up on wanting that? The sensation of numbness: a paradox nobody can explain.
Written by
Mouthpiece  26/M/Liverpool, UK
(26/M/Liverpool, UK)   
       Poetria, ---, susan, ---, Yume Blade and 36 others
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