im waiting for my heart to stop.
the deceased are walking hand in hand. a presence that sends a shiver down my spine. torn decaying clothing. hair down their backs. no eyeballs. just sockets. dry cracking lips attempt a smile at the living. reproducing cells created us. age destroys us. and death brings us back to the earth. the deceased are dust. we are dust. with a little breeze. we are gone.
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