Prose - Till Death Do I Believe
Laying prone next to death which may or may not be my neighbor;
knowing that nothing I remember will save me; knowledge, useless knowledge, a required accompaniment to my carefully selected claret smiling with assurance as I infringe upon their right to object to the depths of my retort.
A wrinkled sheet ignored but useful in its random spread across my torso
draws the sweat from my pores as I save the planet from my presence while the restlessness of unmerciful insomnia instills a quiet uselessness
to my thoughts which I egocentrically assume will yield prose worthy of comment.
As the knowing is swallowed, whole as the last hardened cheese cracker on a plate it becomes relevant to believe in anything unproven as further observed phenomena is no more or less a sequel to a play yet to be understood by genius or idiocy whose consciousness rival one another in their need to be loved by a suffering mother.
The bullet crosses the boundary between dream and threat into an assumed
position of relevance in every step I take towards a repetitive life filtered only
by the need for a decision; unhappy with or without; each the same yet
held aloft by the delusion of a chance encounter with a heart I will use but never protect.
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