Forsaken by my own thoughts... the ebbed sensations replaced by shadow, stick figures seeking for lost dinner plates. My conscious has been replaced by the flaky paste of dried saliva, mucous and tears. Like stained teeth gnawing through dried, cracking lips... the empty gaze of puzzled thoughts, only this one remains void. Existence breed with chaos. Dignity lost among the mannequins. Whether a Shepard's crook or the Devil's hook... the destination, has only but one name. Can you still see me, as I lay here in this soiled grave?
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