Lists continue to grow
of the color that's turned into
a shade darker than its center,
radiating through the gaps of lies sown
leaking through the permanent answer, the answer already known.
Blindly the cycle lays its head down
Upon the looming fear, that it is
Going nowhere.
Cover it with a shadow,
Tuck it into the fallen corners
Of the lie that succeded
In leaving bliss a distant myth.
Can't you find the problem
Buried beneath the surface,
Grown roots into every vein,
Pulsing in your absent body
And if you cut those roots,
that spiral out from the center,
then your body is nothing
but the emptiness rotting.
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