Truly Terrifying Facts
I feel the beads rolling
Traversing
Dripping in the dull quiet
Hands quaking, unclenched
An empty thought, daily
The dry, dense air, my lungs frozen in True Terror
for what?
An eternal shade is perched casually
upon my windowsill,
the prospect of doubt.
To consider the intangible
is to
is
The question is answered
What is to be, but me?
Ponder the Unknown
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