the years gave chase as the hours bit down. the endless pursuit. time and flesh in a treacherous balance. choices like cobras coiled to strike. empty fangs. their venom drained.
the path showed itself. ink bleeding through to the other side of the paper. we only needed to turn the page.
the end wore its mask. the strange politics of touch. gambling on our reluctance to admit what is lost.
gravity choked. everything beneath us. nothing above.
we watched. as the moment collapsed. into a fury of forfeiture.
we danced. as the night waned into surrender. our battles measured in the smallest cuts.
our wars waged on the narrowest of bridges.
the path showed itself. ink bleeding through to the other side of the paper. we only needed to turn the page.
the end wore its mask. the strange politics of touch. gambling on our reluctance to admit what is lost.
gravity choked. everything beneath us. nothing above.
we watched. as the moment collapsed. into a fury of forfeiture.
we danced. as the night waned into surrender. our battles measured in the smallest cuts.
our wars waged on the narrowest of bridges.
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