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I'm tired of being the only sober one in the room
the only one willing to metabolize the truth
to see all the ways we anesthetize ourselves
eternally doped up on ascent

no care given to the descent
though

out of body

and even when descent earns the tiniest bit of airtime
it must be framed in beauty, cloaked in elegance

"a phoenix rising from the ashes"

how...
ideal

but the room still smells of spilled lavender oil
and what refuses to burn will not rise again

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