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Feb 2020
Reminiscing in halcyon oases,
hidden in rough terrain,
our decaying remains pale
in the shadows of mountains.
Picturing a setting sun,
they shift only to the tune
of a thousand year erosion.
Tarred and feathered to warn the crows,
we committed to the scars on our wrists,
rather than the parachutes on our backs.
Written in February 2020
HearseTraffic
Written by
HearseTraffic  26/M
(26/M)   
  217
     Zoe Mei and Fawn
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