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I can’t tell myself from a walking corpse

I roam this world

Wander through endless cycles

Of some useless game

At day’s end

I feel 87 yet I haven’t even sprouted

The fountain of memory has dried up

Only a desert remains

No oasis for my soul

No calm for my body

My conscience hops from vacuum to voids

From fires to ice

I refuse to thaw

I part myself from nature

Lost my mother

Alas I shall die

And live for seconds

Before am back

To being A…

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