There is blood on your hands. The splatter of dreams and hopes and chances that you could have fostered and fed. It’s a sinking ship of ambition on a dry road caked with dust. It’s the coral that has bleached itself in hot weather, knowing the future is coloured a deep crimson red.

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There is the darkness that comes by closing the lights and then your eyes and then looking on.

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There is nothing.

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And then comes morning and the theory of relativity kicks in. You find hope, that blister that stings away the thoughts. Bubble, curdle and burst.

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The mind is lost in the maze of pumping blood and slow decay. You don’t really have a choice but to grow old and with each millisecond that rushes past that’s another ledge you’ve jumped off, another opportunity lost and left behind. And yet, there is hope – that thread of lies, and of deceit that you’ve spun for yourself, that net you want to fall on and climb out of, to stop weaving and to continue, to continue forever.

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The neurons are firing all over the place in little zig zags that culminate in command; this is us all growing old. A heaving breath with which we fight life and death.

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And what is left as time goes by? The hope, the dreams, the decay.

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Do you look back at your life and regret anything? Anything at all? Is that the quality of the passing of time? A parent left, another gone. A friend there, another now unknown. The chances are the die has been cast. The question is can you see it as it falls? Do you know where you stand, under the mess you’ve made or on top of it? For you are filth and the cleaning crew; if you fail you, who is left to please?

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There is nothing.

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On sifting shores of sand you watch your life fly by, picture by bloody picture. Is your life what you really intended it to be or has it turned into a farce? Do you see your smile stretched in an unwieldy grin? Do you see hurt trailing down your cheeks as the day runs on? The evening comes racing past the sun, and soon your eyes will close. Keep your calm as the sea rocks your raft and ruins your course. For at the end of the day when you close your eyes and take a deep breath you will find, there is nothing. Just the absence of light. You’ve killed yourself again.

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Until the morning’s hope burns it away. And it turns into another – an idea-drenched day. But today’s dreams are new. It could be your time to be hopeful.

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