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Feb 2012
Skin becomes ashen

Crumbles lacking moisure

Muscles rebel

Tendons detach

Bones crack and splinter

Stripped of flesh

Where has the blood gone?

Without a heart to beat it cannot flow

Once there was a steady thudding

In this cavernous hole

Now the edges are jagged

Its contents removed

Death is becoming

To these pale features

A rest with no pain

Agony so constant of late

Merely a distant memory

In a moment

Even those will be gone

All is final
I am myself
Written by
I am myself
517
 
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