So beyond the contempt of termites.

We fled to easier paths.

Blinded by the world's regret.

A tragedy walking backwards.

So easy were the juvenile years

That we barely see antiquity.

But at a glance so sudden

The memories remain starved.

So benign to the fact of future

That out all consuming stench

Fills the room with exhales

Of turmoil so over dramatic.

So lost we are in the darkness

That the color wheel of life

Fades to the ever so bleakness

Of our perpetual whining.

So ungrown are our souls

That out maturity has been wrought

By the device that is continuity.

Tying all things to the same undeserved destiny.

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