Scribbling:
Tragedy of Wanderer:
“An irresistible urge to get drunk, and the
bottle betrays you leaving behind no more than few droplets as if mocking you,
asking you whether you could ever get drunk enough to stop, and you look around
for alternative, but what could fill the glass? The night has been a habitual
offender that leaves behind just enough traces of darkness every night to draw
one in but soon leaves him behind asking for more but Alas! The dawn brings no
mercy and despite having suffered repeatedly one cannot stop but fall prey to
the seduction of the night, to the perversion it brings that the void would be
filled with darkness until one falls for it and finds himself trapped in those
moments that last forever as if lost in the maze of abysses only to be played
around forever, buried beneath own flesh and bones.
It was becoming unbearable and more, he was
finding himself insensitive to his own screams, pricking himself while wandering
upon the ruins of his cries, the lies of night were far too predictable, the
cruelty of the dawn were ever more dreadful.
Unseen, unheard, as if deprived of even own
sight and hearing he looked for leftover bottle of poison, it was his only possibility
of escape out of this outrageously vulgar display of indifference that he had
collected for ages now. Alas! There were just enough droplets to give one glimpse
of escapade but no more, and he was left longing and yet again…”
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