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Nov 2013
Oh, how they love the silence
They thrive in the dark
Those voices without bodies.
Poisonous, sharp
Spreading through rusted canals
Into that chamber, that artificial mind
They pull, they squeeze, suffocate
Wither and die.
They stick like tar, tastes sickly sweet
Those voices
They turn into words
Infectious
M
Written by
M  29/F/Boston
(29/F/Boston)   
604
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