Some lives are as white as a piece of paper from birth to decease, others are the brilliant colorful pictures.
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As sounds created havoc around my peripheral, loudness increased , as it also decreased
I felt deceased but at least I'm not a feast
More like a beast
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The truth was buried in the family garden, back in 1984.In 2005, I returned to exhume what was hidden. Only to find myself being enclosed by dark, cloaked figures. Aware of snarling voices describing the shame I had inflicted. Hands Grabbing me by my throat. Hurled into a shallow grave. Wailing desperately like a banshee for my release. Inhaling soil, losing each breath. Rasping for air, suffocating in hollow ground. Buried alive alongside my childhood trauma, Laid deceased in a premature grave.
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whoever cries the most in a funeral is the deceased. Losing a life is more than losing a kin or a friend.
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"Memories decrease but never decease."
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