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DISCARDED: Some stories lose their momentum. Some lose the interest of the writer. Some are unworthy of a finish. Rather than leave these undead efforts affixed in some sort of virtual purgatory, I’m discarding them here with a brief explanation as to their origin/intention. Perhaps they may spark an idea in others. Maybe you can finish them off with your imagination. Or maybe it’ll be like you wandered into the wrong viewing room in a funeral home and felt obligated to pay your respects before leaving the unknown dead to the rest of their afterlife.
 

“Natural Resources”… Honestly, I don’t remember writing this, but WordPress was kind enough to let me know it was last edited November 18 of last year. I can only think this seed germinated into the poem “Why I Don’t Cry“. Apparently, sadness manifests itself visually in the concept of being an overflowing black oil ready to gush out in such volume as to destroy everything.
 

And if I feared opening my mouth it was because the sadness flowed through me like the blackest of crude oils. A thick, viscous beast that drowned the light. People saw it in my eyes, from which they averted their own. Whatever feeble words I might summon would be engulfed before exiting my pursed lips. I was an oil rig precious movements away from a catastrophic explosion. A volcanic gushing that would slowly envelop the earth like ink seeping under the fingernails until all was the shade of starless night.

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