The Human Heart

 It has been long smothered to pieces, yet the parts walk as a whole, think as a whole, make choices that partly goes one way and partly goes the other, yet stays at one single place, the present, which is not a time but a place to be, to exist, to be and suddenly not to be one day, and the parts happen to form a human heart on such a desolate place, hoping, praying for deliverance which never arrives, and it becomes an easy enough choice just to forget existing, just to wake up and shit and bathe and dry and eat and work and cook and eat and sleep and wake up and do whatever is programmed within you, choose to care for everyone in the family as you are programmed to do so, choose the blue colour shirt as you are programmed to do so, choose to hang out with women who take a little part from you each day until you have nothing left, choose to hate yourself more and more as averageness seeps in like drips of water within green algae until it is flooded and you are submerged deep within you, choose to rebel against yourself by closing your mournful eyes in front of the mirror, choose to write against the very idea of yourself at each moment, for your heart is old and smothered into pieces while nothing within you resists death, choose to go on despite everything points to the impending end of your experience, choose to breathe as a ghost of the present moment, as a lie, as a lie that is lived through eternity and resembles a hated truth, or has it ended already?

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