Shuffle

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It starts with a synthesizer, looping
and repeating infinitely. The notes move
in their staccato dance until
The percussive beat starts and accelerates,
and you can feel it syncing with your pulse.
And when the chords and voice burst in,
in a triumphant clash
you're released from the shell you're trapped in.
Because this moment feels like
the only thing that exists
the only thing worth living for
is in those perfect notes.
But it all became too much.
And the final chord echoed
away and morphed into a
dissonant rumble of thoughts
racing across my mind
in a hectic parade.
And I feel a million tiny parasites
crawling beneath my skin, eating
away at the me I used to be. And all I want to do is
peel away the flesh from my bones
and hope that the pain takes away the hurt
And leaves behind the lonely skeleton of a person
I've become
The liquid silver rain drips
And streaks down the window
leading to the world outside.
The only sound is the dull crackle
Of an old radio. And you see
There's nothing really that can be seen
But it comforts and soothes you
To be blind to any reason and truth
And unable to tell black
From white. And you sink
And drown in the toasty feeling
Of icy numbness. And at last
You know





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