He pulled out the ugly miasma
from his head
and examined it with passionate focus.
He wondered how it came to be
how many hurts how many cuts
made it grow?
Why does it bubble to the surface with deathly stealth
to weigh him down with slow caustic air?
It would not speak
it wasn’t able
but it did stare at him with dead eyes
looking deep into his shadow
and stealing his breath.
He threw it against a wall
it splattered against it
then gathered itself back together
and jumped back into his head
where it hid deeply inside
so he wouldn’t be able to find it again.
Defeated, he trudged toward his home
and looking down, saw that there was nothing beneath him
nothing above, nothing to each side
nothing at all
and he knew that it was over
that the thing was run
and he rejoiced at the thought.
As his atoms began to fly apart
and he felt the orgasm of ending
he whispered
thank you.
Freedom…my god yes freedom.
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