68.

One day, I’ll leave this place.

And all of the false importance and voyeuristic repetition will drop from sight.

Without a trace.

The compartments of other peoples delusions will cease forming part of my own and the voices of self appointed authorities and gurus of fantasy and falsehoods will be silenced forever.

The battle for my empathy, sympathy and loyalty will be over. A treaty drawn between me and myself, existing on a plain where senses still prevail over scorched eyes.

There will be no waiting to see how far I can validate myself through the hollow habits of other peoples hands, I will be content with the space I will grow in and not want more inside the box I shrink myself into every day.

And the only light I’ll see will nourish not neglect, warm me up not leave me wanting.

The sounds I will hear will encourage and embrace, not silently taunt and demean.

To exist within a now that never shows its face as we stare blankly at a then, is to drift without aim and slowly die in place, paralysed by the ghosts of our consent.

And one day it’ll be nothing, just as nothing it began.

And one day I’ll leave this place.

When I finally realise that I can.

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