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Mar 2021
The empty unknowing, remains an exhausting seclusion. A labyrinth adorned with collisions of torture and obscurity. Cultivated by knowledge, and obtained by the bewilderment of the unknowing. Attained, and retained, by a meager rendition of pale reflections. Set only upon a silent opaque stage. Redundantly examined within wisps of unattainable enlightenment, curiosity stalks its prey. Crushed from above by the weight of existence, and measured only by chance. I watch as chaos plunders deep, consuming all within the eternal garden. The choice of confusion depicts my last state of the present.
Written by
Brad Straw
67
 
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