Such quiet sadness for a life over. maybe it’s the mist. maybe it’s the rain. there is tears everywhere. black shouds and clothes form a gothic blur of a thunderstorm. outside, the ocean seems still again, it’s churning and volitile state finally calmed under the release of the sould in a body so tormented by disease. all that’s left is the mist. it’s cold and dap. its refreshing. it leaves small wet kisses on my cheeks, blushing pink from the cold. tears well, like in a dam whose levees are about to break but reside before any damage can take place. tears threaten to spill, but in the coldness of no emotions of this life, they receed into the abyess of the body. feelings are clouded. remorse is shown in faces. but the rain washes away everything.


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