It bleeds crimson when sundered,
Oozing thumping, traces of life.
Spilling memories cold and warm,
And coagulating ironies.
It still runs molten brine saline,
when pinched a bruising blue,
Leaving white marks of abandonment,
Upon neglect and ignorance.
No I don't say it aloud much,
But I'm very much alive.
Oozing thumping, traces of life.
Spilling memories cold and warm,
And coagulating ironies.
It still runs molten brine saline,
when pinched a bruising blue,
Leaving white marks of abandonment,
Upon neglect and ignorance.
No I don't say it aloud much,
But I'm very much alive.
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