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Jul 24
In the haze of it's flames
a man laid under Canopies
of  burning light of a siren
cutting through the smoke
as if it was paper.
Their voice, flooded with drought
loss of input
they weren't able to speak
nor breathe
it was suffocating
the texture of the brittle
firm cement, under their cheek
Thus all they had left
was a broken requiem
of a better day.
Wither Bloodfall
Written by
Wither Bloodfall
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