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Jun 2013
The silence is tight and creeping in
it is thick with a permanent taste
it's perpetually there on infinite levels of volume

Death dances along its borders
death echoes along,
chanting the vibration
over and over
it is there
stuck in white space forever
it's the open, unread letter

it's the absolute absence
left when the summer subsides
when the sun knows
it's leaving it's flowers out to die
Ossa Putrescere
Written by
Ossa Putrescere
362
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