poliisit on tulossa
Artyom Block
Ouadda, Bamingui-Bangoran, Central African Republic
I can feel the foul breath of loneliness creep through my lungs when the city dies at three in the morning. I want to sleep, to forget a place that is so cruel and tainted. Even dreams feel like long dull needles being driven into my head. But these pills won’t stop my numbing respite from fading. As I wake up, harsh and painful memories converge in my head all at once. My throat burns as I try to hold back tears, writhing in this grotesque agony. Sorrow has stained everything around me… my sheets… my clothes… it always seems to find me. I feel like I am phantoming through life, each moment a lifeless drug-hazed, dream-fugue. I want to go away, to be forgotten, but every last drop of hope has been drained from my eyes. I am lost in these silent, abandoned suburbs. Surrendering to monotony. I know that I can never get away…
I can feel the foul breath of loneliness creep through my lungs when the city dies at three in the morning. I want to sleep, to forget a place that is so cruel and tainted. Even dreams feel like long dull needles being driven into my head. But these pills won’t stop my numbing respite from fading. As I wake up, harsh and painful memories converge in my head all at once. My throat burns as I try to hold back tears, writhing in this grotesque agony. Sorrow has stained everything around me… my sheets… my clothes… it always seems to find me. I feel like I am phantoming through life, each moment a lifeless drug-hazed, dream-fugue. I want to go away, to be forgotten, but every last drop of hope has been drained from my eyes. I am lost in these silent, abandoned suburbs. Surrendering to monotony. I know that I can never get away…
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