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Thinking aloud

Where are you going?

Looking down at death

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My oh my,
looking down at the face of death
no? He's only sleeping.
A statement of remorse
or probably defiance.

He's probably blacked out in the blue
summer of discontent, washed over
with the piteous smiles and rock hard
snubbery.
Touch him dear! He's not dead, just a little,

how would you say it?

nauseaous...
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