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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: October 08, 2018

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Submitted: October 08, 2018

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The misty glimmer combusts.
A steady dulling, follows.
Gentle enough to allow the eyes
To adjust.
The world, drawn.
The contours,
Take on other forms.
Sort of,
Melding together,
Just like,
Being misplaced
Into the background,
As though each are one.
A lost cause,
Does it make a sound?
Grasping at straws,
Each wave stripping you raw.


© Copyright 2018 M. Schang. All rights reserved.

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