all hope is lost, it has revived itself

i claim exertion to the separation of
curtains and search of sanctum,
but no matter how i
venture changing or
eluding these days, my
automatic traipse always leads
to some other cognate place
this backwards time
lapse- raucous
fragments keep
agony can't stop 
thinking keep rewinding the worn 
reels unending terror prescient
demise shrill torsion in my
skull fragments keep
scraping this abrasion i'm
scratching already continue no
finish collapsing with failure relentless
assault fear pulverizing
everything it's
programmed to confine to
inflict torture to reinstate
my vision is
palpitating; the
odds are
still the same,
but when
they're pushing and
shoving the evens
away, all
hope is


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