A wellspring of inspiration.

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The rake of calloused palm against worn, sallow face; the loom of perfume on handkerchief lace

The dither of moonlight illuming the grey; the noir from afar to a time cast away

The burning eyes cooled by drying of tears; the sleeve used to grieve before anyone hears

The venom overheard by the children at play; the words that assure through the mind’s disarray

The throbbing, red lip with a taste of fresh blood; the blame, and the shame, and the memory flood

The shattered glass soul and phyche near rend; the long to go on, but a lust for the end

art: Pendulum by Margarita Georgiadis

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