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May 2016
My weary eyelids are propped up on caffeine outlining pensive pupils,
as thoughts flicker across irises, in hazy and unclear hues.

It's about time for the fog to be lifted,
when curtain call brings an end to the last act.

Slipping headlong through time and space, memories are fading ques
Air caressing my cheeks one last time before setting down my quills.

The end of the story is near,
eyes overcast in shadowy veil.
Eliza Fairchild
Written by
Eliza Fairchild  Ithaca
(Ithaca)   
336
   --- and cgembry
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