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    Touch Of Memories

    In silence like ghosts we tango through an empty house with a phantom touch of memories and lost minuets whispering in tongue of the snifter's cognac secretsbeyond the gables and wooden monuments and death's shakers

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    Haunted Wood

    The forest of haunted wood. Tall pine of cathedrals with a pulse of memory upon the cold lair. With a scent of resin coagulating like ancient archeology's bones. Ghosts in the forest taking root in the wood of eternal...

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    • I felt completely immersed in this chilling, atmospheric piece, where the forest is a cathedral of memory and ghosts. The imagery is mesmerizing; I can practically smell the cold resin and hear the whispers.

    • I love the dark side in writing. It can only hurt you, if you let it.

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    I Am

    𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖜 𝖑𝖊𝖋𝖙 𝖇𝖊𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖆 𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖔𝖔𝖙𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖑𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖈 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖉𝖚𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖈𝖐 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖜𝖆𝖎𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖕𝖆𝖘𝖙

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    Red Rover

    You stand at the edge of the shadow-line, where the fading sun bleeds across the bruised horizon. The figures on the other side are indistinct, faceless against the growing dark, but you know their numbers are growing. Each night,...

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    • WE used to play this in grade school…but it was never quite this serious….might have been a bit too scary.

      I like the idea you use of “the mockery of human warmth”—
      That is what our leader has….And I wish he would come over and have the others in government link hands in peace and stop him from what he is doing.
      Come over, come over.
      j.

    • Thank you. Wasn’t about politics.

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    Coagulation

    The pendulum, the clockwork's sovereign. Each tick ofsleepless nights. Each swing, a spit of polished brass. Each motion, a tango without music. Algorithms of insomnia between two abysses without diagnosis. Just coagulation of the cog's spine.

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