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Nov 2013
The dark ink blots out the sky,
the stars aren't shining
because at the center of our fixture
rests an everlasting, whirring
mechanism,
it turns the key in out backs,
pushes us further,
tiptoe or *** rush or sprint,
the multitude of spirits echo,
an enchanting chorus,
tone unlike any other.
Wack Tastic
Written by
Wack Tastic
417
     Ember Evanescent
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