My hands have not worked as they used to. My mind, you see; it unravels and shakes. I wake up in the hold of indifference, the collective weight of nothing.
I am chased by shadows I know no location of. Specters of a fleeting persistence, a remembrance of childhood innocence and ignorance.
Right now I am asleep. Nestled within the neurons of the chaos that is my home. Where there are no ends, there is no Justice. There is only a darkness I call unfinished work. In the child whom sleeps.
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