I like to think that I’ve not been this alone,
but the truth is that I always have.

This feeling is not new. Yet it aches like a fresh wound.
Helplessly I struggle to breath. Each breath full of smoke, bringing me closer to an end.

And end that I can’t see in front of me.
Yet, it all is the same.

The same end that I’ve always been heading to.
The same conclusion to my story.

Perhaps my thoughts will change.
They always have before, and if this is the same path-

Perhaps I will find my way off it once more.


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