the clenched hands at the beginning of the night. the sun has set, the moon is full, and i find myself still empty.

religion has been tried and found lacking, as has love, and drink, and any other vice imaginable.

for i have know them, i have know them all.

there seems to be this hole inside of me that nothing can fill and it might as well be vice denial or escape.

its just that i've begun to suspect that i am not destined to find contentment, nor happiness.

that is all
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