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Laiden bare,
Fleeting care
Of simple springs.
Conversation in the corner
Continue over the sound of literally nothing
-a vacuum.
A wormhole of words:
Said
To be said
Never said
Won't be said.
Here lies the dead man,
The remnant of hydration
And wood
Bullets.
Scattered.
Here's the boy you lost.
Here's the spoils of war.
Sunlight falls.
Vashta Nerada halls.
Of a girl.
Sitting admist.
Sitting quietly.
Sitting observing.
Writing.
These are the spoil(er)s of war.
- by Lostt Eviie |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 05/18/2010 |
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