there’s this static fever ceaselessly chugging through my veins & they say the body is supposed to be your personal bomb shelter but i’ve been splayed across the table craving euthanization for days & what happens when your sanctuary has run amuck; the only place that has truly brought you salvation has apostatized & trying to wait out this delirium is ripping your quintessential being into an iota of what you once were & this wouldn’t be the first time my blood feels more like a liquid inferno devouring the parts of me still breathing than life itself & attempts at extricating any emotion i still hold looms over in battlefield formation seeking to win the battle, not the war & slowly chipping away at the chinks in my armor that has gone rusty with disuse the war is coming to head & annihilation comes at the price of your own humanity but wouldn’t it be worth it?


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