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Feb 2020
Cobwebs
Stagnant water
Lightless
Hopeless
Useless

The mere sight of it made our angels above recoil in disgust.

A festering wound that poisons the well. Meandering procrastination. Birthed hate and envy.

It is rot.

It is decay.

It is a promise.

It is inevitable.

It is home.
Written by
Max
161
 
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