purpose

there must be
a miracle drug
to ease this
overwhelming
anxiety bubbling
in acidic groans
throughout my
meat prison.

none of the
other drugs seem
to erase the edge.

or maybe this
is what it is to
be human
a condition of
inescapable
horror leading
to death with
brief moments
where things make
a modicum of sense
before falling
to pieces as
we sob alone.

i don’t know.
not a goddamned
single clue.
but it hurts.
and i don’t
know my purpose.
not anymore.

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