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Lullaby in a Segue.

Sorrows,
how they swallow
us here,

trembling
in the darkness,
resting on our bed
of fears.

We made it. It’s our
responsibility to lay down
on it, after all, and it feels
so close to the end…

Bridges burnt.
Fat lady sang
like a goddamned angel.
Pork soars above.

All signs point
to the fact that its over.
Dead and gone.
Last nail in the coffin,
last shovel of rich soil.

High time
we accept it,
adapt to this, for

really: what could
there possibly be left
to wait for?

Rest now, my friend.
I will endure for all of us.
We will meet again.

Somehow, I feel
certain of it.

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