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is the sky concentrated in the horizon in its edges
in the zenith it is more dizzying, gazing up
when things press me hard towards the nadir
it is diseased:
a diseased mind, a diseased body, a diseased life
everything is diseased
it is obvious, pure, as pure as a believer’s deity
it does reek of irony when such purity is the reason
the sort of cause ― of a clearly diseased existence

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