at the tether's limit, there is only that undeniable urge to impale with any weapon on hand
and yet the fingers are too weak to grasp what the mind recoils from, this foil of fear
shrink-wrapping the consciousness, tainting the conscience with suspicion
perhaps if the hole is made, some light will penetrate this folly
perhaps if the hole is made, some truth will burgeon steadily into strength
perhaps if the hole is made, we will not longer be damned fools imprisoned in hopeless conflict
but is there the courage to even stand up?
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