Entertaining the passage of time, we travel roads toward ends of life.
Unsurpassed in the sacred rites of living.
Solidly choosing to portray scenic pictures upon photographic textures never before seen or felt.
Noting down all sorts of mannerisms, being accustomed to inner patterns matching with the mosaics of yesterday.
Lifting the shades every morning, secluding self in rooms of quiet remembrance.
Offering nothing to anyone, because I’ve been emptied of all hope.
Encased in a labyrinth beneath earth, finding myself crying into a pool of crystalized tears, as my heart freezes in a contemporary sort of dream.
Aligning itself with a figure of speech as I write it down, etched in my memory for all time.

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