He sits with himself and watches the outside world dutifully devour these people of prioritised minds, only that they do seem to mind and Much Far TOO MUCH!

He fails, FINALLY, to feel their each and EvEry pEneTrAtIoN oF PaIn… and quietly witnesses his own sense of past tEnSe suFfErInG!!

Because it has been.. past the point of imagined pain, only that he did EXACTLY THAT: sitting and suffering and running running RUNNING(!) into the ground ‘til his mind… failed to cease these random and paralysing ruminations of the bRaIn(!!)

Yet, it has made him he, it is PRECISELY the giving thing that offered its hand
… When he LITERALLY needed it THE MOST: because, while he sits right here.. he WILL write.. til it All Makes mIrAcuLouS kinds of secondary sense.

This was all done as a sprinting sidebar amidst
Upside down and outwardly FALSIFIED bliss. The miracle was never on the page, but in his Silenced Rage.

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