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Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #2218029
The mourns of day
Cold Faces

The ashen grey clouds
obstructs my vision
of day

watching the emptiness
in the space of faces
walking by

It seems like everyday,
every hour, minute,
second, each time
the day passes by
we become dead of
our own grasp of

Rejected, forgotten
we are converted
into something

Surrounded by these
cold faces
it frightens our being
forcing us to
someone we are not

How could this
world be so cold
and ruthless

We are harmed
by the wickedness
of the unknown

Blank stares feeds our soul

Faces that are so cold
engulfs our existence
with exhaustion

suffocated, exhausted
we are trapped
into an eternal

Zombies of our own
controlled by these
many faces

We are trapped.

Are we?
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