quagmire paradox

we float
bodies numb
on this
sluggish stream
of ice cold
nothingness
fingers trailing
unable to grasp
at the darting
lights
glimmering
just beneath
the surface
and we know
whatever those
fluttering
half frozen
beams are
they are the
only thing
in this vast
hell of half
focused delusions
that make any sense
even of we have
no comprehension
of what they are
we float
at the precipice
of sweet oblivion
drifting in a
false freedom
that exacerbates
the confinement
a perfect trap
in which the
only true escape
is an end to
everything
a quagmire paradox
at the brink
of coherence
and acceptance

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