Unrelenting formlessness.

Beneath the burnished and hardened exterior lay the ashes of the past year. Hollowed out, the deep & endless halls amplify the tiniest sound, though sounds are far and few between. Like a phantom, the fire that burns inside me floats through the halls, throwing a pale light against the formless dark. The sound of labored but steady breathing reaches into the emptiness. There’s nothing here. I’m not who I used to be. I’m a shell, a suit of iron moving through my life looking for a more suitable inhabitant, a new me. I’m tired of being tired, tired of feeling numb. To walk to the surface of this land I walk fares no better, as I’m randomly bludgeoned by projectiles that seem to seek me out passively aggressively.

I am sure none of this makes much sense. If I could paint it I would. I need to keep going, keep walking, keep talking. “Pep talk push-ups”. Let the life in, the love and passion in. I’m tired and I don’t care. If I stop now, I feel I may not be able to continue. This is weakness leaving the body, the psyche. I either turn into a machine until I reconnect with my humanity or I become irrelevant, incompetent and that is something I will not allow. The new city must be built on the ruins of it’s past and that’s just how it goddamn has to be. The alternative is failure. I don’t accept the alternative.

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