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binds and blinds

I am torn. There is a glacier making its way down a current, heading straight to an island of wildlife, and, I am sitting here bleeding nonstop, thinking of a cardigan I want, that is way beyond my budget. 

Why are we this way? 

How did I get this way? 

I can answer that.

I assimilated.

I stopped looking at tragedy for too long, unless I’m staring at it with my dead eye, fixated and broken. 

I want out.

I want to expire. 

Combust.

No pain, I’ve had enough of that. 

Fat forward.

Then, in the middle of scrolling endlessly through my tracking devise, I begin to cry. I picture the penguins, and the sea life obliterated. Unbeknownst to them, their fate anticipated by others, but not them. 

Yet, I find freedom in that. 

But I continue to cry because life makes you keep thinking. 

Makes you think of yourself, makes you selfish. 

Makes you swallow your spit.

Makes you bitter.

I fear we are at a slow end to this circling, we are a swarm of tombs, gasping. 

We reach for love and cashmere as if we’ve never touched either. 

Still, I wonder why I feel so drawn to this cardigan, and why I cry at the thought of a glacier destroying oblivious animals. 

Perhaps I fear the cold.

Perhaps I fear extinction.

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