It's in the interstices along th slow and fast roll of the ever
Ahead. Pushed along by the wish-distorted memory wake
Fueled by the burn of frozen breaths razoring measuredly
Every fiber ragged, disconnected from wakefulness and
Sleep: Bobbing I drift, remains in a sewer rich in corruption.
(Forgiveness and rebirth in 71 days- it's a funny countdown.)
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