Dissmissive fruition
I am dead in a rhythm
with lack of a current we meander on and on.
Heartbeat in a prison
plugged into a prism
I question a sunless sky
the spirits that we abandon come after
We walk. We wander. I lead, they follow.
And I know one day this earth will swallow me whole
and I will coalesce with the shadows and the hurt that will follow me home.
clamoring for the hurt
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