coffee break journals 44
the well of gangrene i have for a heart feeds on positivity and spits out negativity.
it's how it breathes. in and out it goes to corrupt.
everytime you pull the rope and drink from the bucket.
you will confuse it for its disguise of hope and peace and it will embrace you sweetly until you're swimming in it too deep.
the seed of the dying tree grows burning strings which feel like ashes in the wind.
the branches are not strong but they never stop growing and the more you cut the more the infection spreads.
this case of victory is achieved through tiredness.
i am the negative tree that you will, inevitably, leave before or after you transform into something you hate.
what i leave has no middle ground, it's either a blocked memory or a reinvention of a non entity such as myself.
another means to spread. to reach out more. and more.
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