in the wake of the sleeping Elm,
in a puddle of eternal Animosity,
i stir with a hazy Deprivation.
silent and puzzled is the night�s eye
to sit in its dark abyss Alone.
i wonder where the world went to,
should the sky turn into a hazy Musk.
for I can imagine only in my mind
the pure perception of an evening�s curse.
travelling past the well of angelic death,
and pacing around an unmarked grave.
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