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Apr 10
An attire of cadaver obsidian
      hangs upon the expiration

of every fluctuation.

Weaving sorrow on every passing.

Considering the folly of her motionless

Her garb falters and  decomposes
              below her narcistic


She is neither Earth or Air,
                but a decompaction of

reflections fading over time..
Poetic T
Written by
Poetic T  On Oblivions Doorstep
(On Oblivions Doorstep)   
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