S E H N S U C H T

Empty space occupied by its acknowledgment, love, destruction, fractal, fragmented, whole. Broad, maximal ; the way we are and choose not to be. The way of the mind and soul, from the air tickling the hair on your arms to the depths of the darkest and happiest places of the mind. The entities knotted in your throat and dragged by foot. God inside us, gravity walkers, a sparkling holiday tree for the gremlins who thirst for a place to hang. My reflection shows me a thing I cannot grip familiarity with, reduced, it breaks my heart; A material, responsible for connections that only link at a place in which attempting to reach is like chasing a rainbow. I always wake up to this quiet, heavy place, with no clue why I resist the small feasible fraction of this plate that I have, this utensil that I remain. A fraction anyone else would be proud of, they say. I thirst. I should be thriving off this mule I was born into. I’m a wasteful twat. There is never enough and always too much. I am five, or seven, or more, and they all despise each other. But there is a light, the lamb, the lover. The world no longer believes in gratuitous happiness, playfully persecuted to exile of my clumsy heart, inducing idle stray, exhausted by aimless distractions. And tomorrow I will be something else. Dispair Wonderment The Rage The Nobleman the fool The Monument The Moth The Lantern



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