throwing myself on the
abyss of your halted
breath and parted silence,
the paper unquenched by
this ink, this attempt and
metaphor to carve my
own journey upon the
path you are now taking,
you say it is easy and
my confines are not
the four corners of your
room, but the death of
night is tragic and undefeatable,
with its leaves resurrected.
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