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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Personal · #1071189
sitting at my desk the words came of their own accord.
         Meandering through our lives in intolerable torment, we scream in a violent rage. The infinite darkness, the great beyond, calls forth to our beleaguered souls.
         Dripping pustules ooze our contempt for this meager space.
         Perceptions, shifting, ever-narrowed whilst our confined spirits yearn for the great escape.
         Eternal gray, in rippling waves, assaults our senses at every turn; bland and desolate, the color of sorrow, filling our lives with claustrophobic death.



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