garish garments of candle flung on me,
concealing into the blackness of this light,
the quiet that has clouded these eyes,
.
the voices hushed of stories of this journey,
the door bunged up of narration, by the fortitude
of now confounded moon, eclipsed to aloofness,
.
abandoning the dew drops on the yews
which stand enslaving ye, my soul,
growing distant from the being, identity,
.
I cloaked upon in these murmurous times,
balding my heads, ridding them of
dishevelled wild liberty of ye, my heart,
.
blood being caked onto the knuckles,
enduring the blue, of breathing
vicious fumes, out from within
.
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