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Apr 2021
I am dying.
As the sun above settles in,
And the warmth of what should have been,
Plagues my aching, tangled form,
Tries to drag me, lifeless, home.
I am dying.
Like how we share this thing,
A lust, a necessity, this ring,
Wedding both our divine depravity,
Interwoven with mindless insanity.
I am dying.
Born to raze countries,
Or died to watch recoveries,
Authenticity is the soul,
Of all unmistakable “evil”.
I am dying.
We only know what we feel,
Only stand where we kneel,
And on our crippled knees,
We cover graves with the breeze.
I am dying.
Jane Smith
Written by
Jane Smith
430
   Andrew Rueter
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