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May 10
It’s hazy. It’s yellow.
It spins and confuses.
It finds all the elements
Intellect uses.

It’s a smell.
It’s a memory.
It’s a comforting chill.
It’s a clever confusion
To wrap up our will.

It’s stagnant,
Yet vibrant.
It’s scathing,
Yet kind.
It’s the resources I’ve spent
To leave pain behind.
Overtaken by a feeling.
Nothing new,
But not so old.
Just a small fleshy morsel,
But then, one cannot feast on gold.
Written by
The Wilted Witch  F/Canada
(F/Canada)   
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