Protraction In Absurdity
Time is flying. Work is undone.
Everything but desire is limited.
I've deceived myself, no one else—
It's beyond my comprehension.
Past haunts me. Present tortures me.
What follows... I daren't tell.
Recollections faint and flickering
Lead but to despair.
Rivers dry up.
To myself I address:
This land of yours is in a shambles.
Apathy and inertia,
Creep slowly and steadily up.
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