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Apathy of Time

Blank face with scythe drips sand like frozen blood cut from my veins a tithe for my trouble, slammed door a choir of entreaty, all poor like the life sap cut, a dud. How many you demand blythe shrugs, with a heart's thud thud demanding youth, live lithe, when demanded I gave galore listing softly now, my life outpours but your face, blank, still, no good.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

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