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i’ll recline back in this derelict void
in which i’ve stacked up time i wished to avoid
let it scrape up against my back till i grow paranoid
my mind devoid and bereft –
until gradually – yet suddenly all that is left is
death, who performs the greatest thefts
by taking each and every single final solitary
breath and pressing it in between the pages of the air
the last breath dies without its maker, alone

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: jolt

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