Monday, May 1, 2017

In Absentia Absentia

It's midnight and you should be dead already. Steady hands are in short supply, eyes dry since two decades' December remember the first past fast lost last future surrender, no presents in the present. Presence displaces un-faces, retraces telomeric regression, chimeric persuasion of a future distended to Presence discredit with unsung scores of regressing sores, spots hippocampally situated. Diluted intent intently dilettadabbles in fables relenting their morals in favor of floral promises to dreary marble edifices resounding lachrymal disingenuities to smother perpetuities. Present cadence voraciously subatriates ventriculating disdainfully against presence posterity with criminal neutrality. Posterior unity as to Presence discongruity perpetuates Presence futility, extraneous extance, degenerate genity generous only in thermodynamic disparity. 'Mid nights' periodicity Presence diss corpore but vanity sullies intent on dissent with lubadub sinphonies. Each night mediocre potentia choker Presence revoking sing chiseled moniker marbling invoker of Presence redeemed by rectangular perpendicular absence restorer knife/noose/jump/shoots/drug/hug the track close. Chug-a-chug your redemption, pen a last Presence mention, defection your peace declaration, but we all know you won't grow past your slow degradation. Your absence present, happy day long away they would thank you eventually. Your absence would free them, beg Presence no more than a requiem, all it has ever been, never the courage to absent the corporem. It's past midnight and it's just another day and you still haven't done it yet, set your clock for the next, set your bet for yet another regret.It's past midnight and you're not absent yet.

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