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Nothing is Real Derric Saville February 12, 2012 I pondered oft the other day, of a wonder that was lost

in mind, mayhaps my journey’s long since done, and I’ve aged retreat in years gone past, the people in my life, are characters I create, to help me weave the memories, into a cogent storyline, when my tale was chaos from the get go, and each remembrance slightly differs, because I need to alter a perception, lest it not fit the idealized story of me, a co-worker friend is my neediness, the depression simply a woeful sadness, of a life completed…unfulfilled, which no medicine will correct, those creatures, animals, kin and friends, who fall beside me, perish that I may learn a greater truth, once all the sussing of my plot’s complete, and the daily pain I must endure, is not really real, but exists from a failure,

to deny the unreality, which swarms about me daily, would the world be different, if one day I replaced, my thumb into my mouth, curled up the presumptive covers, closed my eyes, and whispered, those words of Melville’s Bartleby, “I prefer not to”, one day soon, in this thought place of mine, I hereby declare, I shall muster the courage, to cease re-retracing my steps, in a life, long since lost to the vagaries of time, seal my eyelids shut, retreat back into my mind, hearing last my gasp of breath, and wantonly adhere to life’s prescriptive remedy.