The Scientist

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His occupation lies behind his wooden casket,
His life knows nothing but dedication.
Adrenaline and discovery are his ichor.
Many suns and moons will pass,
before his lonely face may peek
at the heavens. Fueled by an abyss of coffee cups,
he waits patiently,
longingly,
faithfully
by his desk
captivated by
its
beauty, enamored with his fantasies of finding the One.
Every breath is filled with desperation
and the sterility of an institution fills his lungs.
His life was never so much about dying for a cause,
but about living for his love and the passion that enveloped him.
His name appears only on his lab coat,
and he will forever be known as
no one.





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