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Feb 2018
The end of the world
will not need me.
The grief I see
will depart swiftly
when my consciousness
cease to be anything.
Death will release
the anguish I breath.

All the books that I read
will crumble like
dry brown autumn leaves.
All those man-made things
will rot, rust, or tumble.

Even our shared history
will recede into obscurity,
then further into
nothingness,
allowing space and time
to completely
forget us.
Graff1980
Written by
Graff1980  43/M/Springfield Illinois
(43/M/Springfield Illinois)   
117
       CnΓ©, --- and naΗ§Γ­
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