Decay has yet to set in yet disintegration already feels like it's begun.
Too early in the day, too late to begin with.
In a mire of contradictory nothings there's enough to be said till silence chafes at your tongue and words whimper at apathy of neglection.
In mute eloquence of verbose laconism, visions sought by blindness of faith, doubts held by perceptive eyeless.
A rungless ladder running in parallel wooden lines, lodges in couplets of pliable lies writ in beautiful truths, in ugly guise.
muted bones finished in matt. Glossy skin of peeling rags stitched with watery threads. Liquid strands evaporate into inflexible stones of soft mud.
Elastic bricks of concrete clouds thudding down to airy dewdrops.
Too early in the day, too late to begin with.
In a mire of contradictory nothings there's enough to be said till silence chafes at your tongue and words whimper at apathy of neglection.
In mute eloquence of verbose laconism, visions sought by blindness of faith, doubts held by perceptive eyeless.
A rungless ladder running in parallel wooden lines, lodges in couplets of pliable lies writ in beautiful truths, in ugly guise.
muted bones finished in matt. Glossy skin of peeling rags stitched with watery threads. Liquid strands evaporate into inflexible stones of soft mud.
Elastic bricks of concrete clouds thudding down to airy dewdrops.
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