Corroded veins breed contaminated circulation, a tainting that begins with bereft corridors of tampered complacency and ends, after an excruciatingly devolving revolution of unhappy pursuits often confused with oblivion. The validation of end-laced deportments, bludgeon clean the all too delicate levers of supine vacancy. Time then offers us a parable. A poor excuse for solidarity when unleavened vines ever-captivate the wandering directions of the slipknot’s integral mind.
Short Poem 8-16-13-1
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