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Restless Vines Climb Up My Spine

What do I want?

Haunted soul flits the sky, finding fault in the perfect clouds
Polishing in vain the nimbus trails, looking for hidden silver
Breath stifles over and over, yet I keep searching

Staleness scalds me like poison
Yet everything gets stale, after a while
Boring, dull, disengaging, yuck



Dirty realism, grunge lit, creative confessions, spec fic, and assorted literary atrocities.

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Paroma Sen

“Do not go gentle into that good night, but rage, rage, rage against the dying of the light.”