Closest to the sun burning

in its debris do I find the

same intensity inside of me.
Before one can contemplate

on their empty template,

another’s blood reddens its simplicity.
To clean I’ve found is futility.

In this never-ending menagerie

of sights, sounds, hunger, agony.
To feign fighting yet inside choose to limply log

our losses we scream quietly, begging “Mercy!”

Only wisely do we adopt these strategies to fight

against this consciousness and keep the end at bay,

but from what I’ve learned

fighting is the real enemy.


Ryan Lindemayer


Ryan Lindemayer lives in Connecticut and has been writing for most of his life. With one book currently under his belt he hopes to publish another one within the next year. His hobbies include gaming, travel, meeting new people, and experiencing life for all the beauty it holds

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