Blood! The room is covered with mulberry flowers. The black ink spills from the dead flower. The stem is dripping. Death is existence. Welcome to the abyss.
The days are old. The same as usual. Every single day.
The time is constant. The changes fade. Every single day.
This is all there is.
For long ago it was told that the truth would be unhidden.
The days of old grow cold.
The days of new are old.
The days of are lost forevermore.
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Pessimistic Optimist
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ashlan
Community Member |
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