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Entropy

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I sit here
Numb.
My throat is dry
But i have not been talking
Or screaming
Or crying
For at least a couple of hours.
I should be asleep right now
But i'm not.
I'm burdened
And awake
And muhgoo.
That is one of the only words I can think to describe
This.
One I made up for occasions such as these.
Fear is also among this
But I am too loyal
So I keep my mouth shut
Like I should have that morning,
Like I should have that afternoon.
But I know
Either way
This is going to change
My life and their life
Whether we intended it or not.
I can hardly breathe
And I can not and will not cry.
I will just sit here
Slumped over, like a rock
With no feeling receptors
Hard
And cold,
And heavy
And grey.
Trying to blend in with the asphalt
But doesn't succeed.
A school kid walks down the road back to his house and notices this rock
Out of place
And decides to kick it,
Kick it all the way home
And leave it in the dirt
Dirty
And shaken.
Another individual is on a stroll around the neighborhood
And picks the rock up
And analyses it,
Decides it's nothing special and tosses it.
Except, this time, the rock lands in a pond
And sinks to the bottom,
Below it's last spot
And sits there
And sits there
Can't move,
Can't talk,
Can't cry out.
It just sits there and endures
And erodes.
Eventually, this rock gets used by an animal
As a home
But due to the worsening condition of the rock,
The animal leaves
The rock
Alone
Once more,
In the dust
From the sand kicked up as they left.
It falls all over the rock
Yet it can not move
And can not talk
And can not cry out for help
And isn't sure it wants to.
It's deteriorating fast, anyway.
Poor rocks can't die
Or live
So all they do is endure
And get chipped away, little by little.
In pieces
Being played like a board game,
Piece against piece
Being used to help a player win
Or lose.
But withe me they would never win
Only be disappointed
And break me into more pieces.
Set up for more disappointment
And more losses,
Until,
I am just a bottle of dust
Being carried by the wind,
Cutting through you.
Getting tossed around even more
Never having stable ground,
Never being complete,
Never ending.
The vicious timeline of a rock,
It never leaves
But it changes
For the worst,
Never the better.
Even an optimist would have to agree.

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The Author

Tori Turmoil Creativity - Other Written Work published by 2 years ago ()

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