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The weight of the world rests on his lids.

Why is this the path he chose?

His mouth opens, but his brain forbids.

Muscles start to decompose.

Blood swiftly fills his lung,

As the smile on his face grows.

Each contraction of his heart stung.

Quiet, shallow respiration.

Racing pulse, but his soul clung.

Body riddled with mutation;

Every limb grew weary.

Subconscious in sedation.

The room grew dreary.

Was his life just a theory?