Closure is a mother fucker
It's a carrot on a string, and I'm chomping on my tongue tryinng to get it. It's that little floatie on the scleral surface of my eye that darts away when I try to sneak a peek. It's a fun-house hallway, extending into oblivion and lined with doors that lead nowhere. It's an echo chamber where I scream louder and louder only to hear myself. It's a mirage waving in the desert, and I just can't stomach anymore sand. It's a wish made over a lamp, but for all the flesh I give, no genie appears. It's a concept that can't be broken down to an elemental form. Where is my closure? When is my closure? How is my closure ever going to be realized?
"It's an echo chamber where I scream louder and louder only to hear myself." I freaking love this piece so so much. Thank you thank you thank you!