find these hidden structures
entombed in the deepest
mists and absences, floating
air sacs as the only signs
of life? how come it
never feels just right?
yet it weirdly whispers well
while it touches my soul raw.
somehow i'm sure that it'll
never forget that i had once
been complete, and was just
ready to go.
i am ready to go, but you
can only take me as far,
as these hidden figures
of depth. trusting fears
as substitute for lies, one
can only trust death 'cause
when the winds slow down
the path into abyss, a current
isn't was, will never will be,
and only just is.
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