Roughly as poetic as a bag of smashed arseholes.







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Friday, 26 November 2010

56. Dying

Blind lightning flashes,
Bitter notes fall
Eyes ember to ashes,
Silence envelops
Flash wind descends,
Spark dusts embrace
Mouth turns to sands,
Life-blood is drained
Concrete becomes feet,
Legs weak and heavy
Creaking become hips,
Balance unsteady
Pain is an abstract,
Awareness, a lie
I hope for dignity,
The day I die

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