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Jan 2018
These continents
spat me out
The bones never rested
The guts of these frigid borders
Could never
Cradle nor contain
This incorrigible dreamer
At the very bottom of the barrel
Tethered myself to the foundations
Dissolved my whole being
In delicately stitched façades
And probables
Whose emotional resonance
Has long withered
Senseless
All these feet can do
Is chase the bitter winds
Shards of hope
Strewn
Broken compasses
Blinding lights
Tremble, seeth
Drenched in sin
In the centre of
The barren lands where
Sanity fuels the faculties
The ginormous machine
Devoid of soul.
The Noose
Written by
The Noose  32/F/Standing on the gallows
(32/F/Standing on the gallows)   
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