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Jul 2016
Descending palms were craving
soulless husks silently hung,
contact breathed essence within
emblems carved in engraving.

Sentience was but a flicker,
with each touch dying quicker.
Dead souls repeatedly snatched
reborn and again dispatched.

Teasing upon sanity
corporeal until touched
forsaken for vanity
souvenir of a death clutched.
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Poetic T
Written by
Poetic T  On Oblivions Doorstep
(On Oblivions Doorstep)   
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