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Dust.

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It will only exist if you believe it does, my dear.
And with that being said, the childs eyes slowly close,
his mind swallowing his fathers words.
Oh how naive the young mind can be,
soaking up his fathers knowledge, like water to a sponge.
But then again how naive are we?
Giving up the will to dream,
imagine,
live.
And all because we are thrown out into the world,
labeled adults.
More like robots.
Doomed to live the same routine,
with no escape.
Until finally our frail bones break,
and we are nothing but dust.





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