In the Distance

April 18, 2018
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Hardened plates of chemical balance send dullahan shadows down my throat and trough my veins
As echos of “I hope you’re ready” cloud my mind and clog the sense of pounding in my chest
A headless rider drawing in
This soul of mine was chipped from the beginning
Simply remnants of the byproducts long forgotten, I shall be sent to a shallow grave of colossal crowds of close minded people
Or so help me I will ride my steed to the highest of mountains without a record of my presence
Left without a trace
And a scramble for the old stereo in your garage
I’m bruising the ego of Achilles himself,
becoming a certified headless rider


So this is how it ends.

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