Chemo's Analog

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The rain comes down, so softly.

It's purple and black colors stain your beautiful face.

 

You feel it pulling you apart as each drop loosens your hold on this reality.

The pain is intense, but you can take it, my friend.

 

Be still, breathe in the mist of it, and take it.

For me.

 

Stand there and lazily soak up that which falls off you, back into you.

And so the cycle of recycle can begin again.

 

The winds pass by, so softly.

Their brown and sienna shades stick in the crevices of your paled face.

 

You feel them pulling you apart as each grain loosens your hold on this reality.

The pain is intense, but you can take it, my friend.

 

Be still, breathe in the husk of it, and take it.

For me.

 

Stand there and relaxedly partake of that which scrapes off you, back into you.

And so the cycle of recycle can begin again.

 

The sun beams down, so softly.

Its golden reddish hues saunter across your porcelain face.

 

You feel the heat burning you apart as each ray loosens your hold on this reality.

The pain is intense, but you can take it, my friend.

 

Hold still, breathe in the stench of it, and take it.

For me.

 

Stand there and exhaustively heal from that which peels off you, back into you.

And so the cycle of recycle can begin again.

And so the life from this death can be born again.

 

Be still, breathe in the horror of it, and take it.

For me.

 

 

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