aliveㅡto breathe
sullied air tainted with broken dreamsㅡand cracked sidewalks
pool with warm bloodstreamsㅡ
intact flesh slowly moves
in tandem with my heartbeatㅡmy blood flows
on its ownㅡmy veins pulseㅡ

sinew and flesh bend gently
when delicate lips touch meㅡbut shatter
with brutal finality
under the bruising force of a sharp macheteㅡred warmth
drips onto silver steel; with sudden clarity, i seeㅡ
i am alive.

isn’t being alive to feel both pleasure and pain? the purpose of life is unknown; we do not know why we exist. we don’t know much but we do know is that we experience. what we experience is the same; we experience the same brands of emotions, the pain and the pleasure that is common in human happiness and human suffering. the circumstances and the events that shape us are different, but, in the end, aren’t we all copies of the same person, just molded in different ways?

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