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Slow Burn.

Sitting as the wave engulfs me,

unprepared and trembling.

This thought I have birthed,

creeps and slithers

its terrible fangs, gleam of death.

It is time.

Stalking youth, time is endangered.

Youth is too brief, its a vice.

Tempting faith.

Filed away in tabernacles.

Forgotten through consensus.

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Written by
samuel-francis
English
Published
Mar 6, 2011
Lines·Words
11·47
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