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Dec 2015
Is this all I have.
Delaying death for one more day.
Surviving.
In terse translations of imperfection.
The sun, leering.
The trees, menacing.
And, I, found the abyss.
In this apathetic allusion.
Of actually living.
Written by
Nolan Bucsis  34/M/Somewhere in Canada
(34/M/Somewhere in Canada)   
331
 
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