Paths

They might not know yet
But

Inside all this blurry mess

Disjointed thoughts
And empty words

They were always
(always)
trying
To connect with
Something
Else

(desperately).

It didn’t matter what it was, actually.
They only needed to keep creating roads and shorcuts to

Kill

That unbearable and retarded nothingness
that was devouring every
still life they had
left.

 

Crita.

 

 

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