Poetry.

Under the guise of a beautiful night

I sought to repeat, at least once, my last words before its heard and spun from the voices of the dead into the ambient light. Cornered by my thoughts too late to breath, unable to cry, too bright to see the purpose and far too late to have reason. More can be said for what i never said than what i got to say but either way, today is just like any other. Smothered in the demise of death, her wandering eye. Had i said what i wanted, id wouldn’t lay here haunted, reminiscent of the one. The one that spoke words of beauty that stalked your intention, a relief of kindness you could see locked in her eyes, beyond the unable and wise.

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