Posted in Wonderers

Summer Poem

The vices of this atrocious summer has made this oppressive silence fall through the heatwaves carrying across the sticky discomfort of the hustle and bustle.

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Posted in Wonderers

A Wish, terminal

Now, I don’t think about survival. But before dying, I have the courage to ask myself one last time, “Is there any last wish, Mr. before your death?” I paused and inhaled the dampness of the imaginary coffins, the incoherent sadness of those who have already passed on, the exuberance of the inanimate air hovering anxiously around me.

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