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'Rottin' of the Soul...'

 As I rise...
mornin' sun no longer
holds a happy surprise
to the days' eyes...

Still I lie...
in a state of decay
hopes n' dreams
snailin' away...

Holdin' fast to beguiled
desires, as fruitlessly
futile as  'dousin' oil on a fire...

Like the eponym for need
wallowin' within the depths
to feed, though the carcass
of excess only leads to distress...

For now, all that's left are fragmented morsels of 'afflatus
dust' that regurgitates n' replays
this 'ache-my-spirit' thrusts...



Written by Poetikmind (_---_)
Published
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