With a scratch the veil comes tumbling down,
and the sky is blue, the horizon drowned;
there is no limit, no sights and no sound,
no house, no job, no life, and no small town:
All that matters is a moment; it feels
incredible until that moment flees
and the next one stumbles its weight and spills
its liquid flames onto your swollen knees:
Bright insight flashed as a pursuit of sense,
not the blind chase for purpose that foiled you;
each breath is to be delightfully dense,
and then exhale the void that has coiled you:
This is living. Do it well or make due;
No ends to the means means you gotta do you.

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