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May 21, 2013
blanched, against a darkened canvas
flickering, waiting as the pool of Black slithers
Ever closer. Never forward.
each drop of putrid jet ink embraces us
suffocating us, Silencing us with our Fears.
both eyes Aware and open, unblinking
yet a vice grip around our conscience
blinded, as we Witness everything
Dragged behind our curtains of Thought
back to our origins in Solitude of the womb

waiting for a Flicker of gold or silver
yearning for a deeper Breath, and a Shallow rebirth.

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