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An infinite library

In a library,

With infinite writings,

There is a hall, a room, a shelf, a book.

 

A book of terror and agony,

I read and read.

 

I have the authority,

To burn, ruin, and shred this book.

 

I read and read,

The dread consumes me,

Like the slow rot of a dying tree.

 

I must eradicate.

 

Still I read and read,

The Inconsolable depression dominates me,

It’s weight, unbearable.

 

I will burn this book, for the terrors of its writing is too, too much to bear,

Too much for any soul to be bound by.

 

But am unable to destroy,

The book, weaving into my fingers, body, and mind.

 

I discern, my hands, writing this book,

I am helpless to end.

 

For this book is my life,

And even the boundlessness of this athenaeum

Would not be complete without these words.

~ N.K

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