The full moon looks so white from where you're standing. Is it really you? Is it really gone forever? Counting the dull interactions of those you never wish to save face in. Rather just FIX YOURS, myself anyway. And your eyes a pallid quicksilver, which hangs across an empty heart. Dull, lifeless, suffocating. Remote invisible innards of a corpse laid to soil. Touching the smooth flesh of a hideous disturbance. Gentle moments sinking into a thick flurry of jagged shards, sprayed onto me from above. The sleeping pills are upstairs, maybe the graveyard's still open/Scattering blindly into sullen company. Aren't you in the Christmas spirit too? I can remember climbing into a tall wooden structure, very creeky and decrepit. Worn with the burden of old age. Seeing past the skyline towards a pit of raw fire. And collapsing in on itself with immense beauty. What it feels like to truly be forgotten. Take time to build character, remove yourself from logical extinction.  NO ONE will care anyway. The shadow twirls into sight.

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