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Apr 2017
by crimson drop,
contaminated blood flows,
down onto
his buried bones.

                                                         ­                   a painting born from blood,
a child with dreams of death and mud,
                                     bodies made of severed tongues,
dust and dirt fill their lungs.

mouths sewn up,
eyes sewn shut,
intense listening,
whispers of their deathly scriptures.

nothing known to them of mortality,
endless pain,
endless death.
Written by
Eloi  20/F/London
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