to Kafka

You know that kind of emotional pain which almost feels physical

like someone ripped a part from your body

some funny appendage, you didn’t really need

like some all-knowing doctor came in with his glasses and his sterile uniform

and said “don’t worry, everything is going to be ok” with a reassuring smile

but when the operation is over you don’t really know whether you were violated or beaten up or what went down

Yeah that kind

the kind that makes every memory feel like it’s piercing your stomach

so you’d rather not even remember you had that appendage in the first place

but then sometimes it’s almost like it’s still there

and then you look and you realise it’s gone

and ghosts wonder around you all day long

and all you have left is a stuffed animal you stole

but it feels so real and you creepingly pretend it’s alive

and everything you really want is just completely obscene and can never be pursued

so you learn to live in denial around that funny castle you can never enter

and as you ask the people in the village trivially logic questions

as you plot your strategy

you laugh screakingly, like a cockroach

because you realise that K was hardly alive, he was at the finish line even before he begun

he was dining with Asimov and a couple of aliens and robots in a spaceship when he was still in the womb

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