These are the last words of my filth, my bellowing and fleeting youth. I’ve had thousands of conversations with myself, debating my true motives, questioning my religion, scrutinizing those I have affection for. Tiring hours of pointless words which formulate sentences, can my soul rest in peace during a summer’s night?

It slips through my trembling fingers down into a hole which holds all the values and traditions handed down to me by my parents. I don’t bother to pick anything up; I still question its usefulness, it’s worth, it’s necessity.


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