Every Type of Death has an Origin of Recognition

Suffer to remain alive. A blissful decent through, and into your rotted life of inhumanity. Striving towards carcinogenic thought processes; devouring wholly and wide. Deepening all you have ever thought you have known. One more dip into the death pit. Slipping back inside yourself from underneath. Dying memories submerged underneath and around your feet. The hypnotizing stench of the buried dead you are standing over. A deeper translation; penetrating what you have always wanted to release. The thickening pale stench; permeating profusely through your nostrils. A resistance to the translation; suffocating you from within its putrid depths. These were your own words; your own bleakness manifested. A faint recognition of the bleak origin you were birthed from and into. Every type of death has an origin of recognition. Your face within the constellations of the blackened night sky. Contorting within a black hole; no one else will ever see within your eyes, but they will always get sucked into you through derangement. The midnight death rattles a baby plays with. Movement of the eternal dance through your eye’s origin. A black hole no one will ever see or recognize ever again.

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