~ SOLITARY SYNAESTHESIA
To those who are putrefying...
Muse:
Won't you meet
My friends,
Companions
In my journey?
Livid corpses
Left behind,
Frigid cadavers
Rotting from the inside.
Id? Ego:
A river running dry.
~ This is Poet's Heaven: you must browse and...linger...and find your pleasure
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