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Aug 2014
He was denied a thought.
He sat abrupt.
He feared the worst.

Moving closer to madness,
rubbing his neck.
A wind shifted in his direction.
He turned cold.

Everything around him seemed to get grayer.
He shuts his bags,
wanting the thinking to stop.
How much more could he possibly muster?
He thought.
When we are left to realize the minuet moments of consciousness.
Jarret M Spiler
Written by
Jarret M Spiler  Los Angeles
(Los Angeles)   
369
   Arcassin B
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