‘Tasche’

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Control.
Gained in a slipping haze of mourning or lost because you forget to turn yourself on?

You never have control. It controls you. It is never asked for an opinion because it is an opinion. Simple as.

Living a life is control in itself. It’s the life that you trundle through that defines you. And at the stage you try and wrestle control back is the exact time you lose more of it.

You haven’t and you never will. Still fucking ill and sat in your own swill. Washing your sins away in a cockeyed denial that eats you up.

It’s took away before you gain it. You struggle to regain it and it eats you up. Proper scoffs you down. Down lower than the fog you inhabit, all knees curled under chin sinful disobedience. Wrapped half tight in question.

I once made the mistake of thinking I was in control. I wasn’t. No one ever is. Admittedly we are all capable of believing the term, but we can never actually control anything that we experience. Pre ordained or pre planned, we sit waiting for that precious moment when the control let’s us go.

It’s too late to complain then. We are elsewhere….

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