Oh
mourning morning when lost life looms large.
I
write to exalt you alone:
the
desire for all that we have ceased to be.
The
wasn't and might have been
are
enormous French tapeworms
devouring
the now and is.
Still,
you grow weary of the ancient world at last.
One
can only live so long amid ruins.
Finally,
the dawn must break like a heart
and
the new day claim reality.
The
daily dance of deception continues.
Pathei mathos. How to sever the
circle?
- mce
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