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Death Most Likely Does the worm discern between saint and sinner? Is the maggots' savor more sweet or salt? We're but brief reflections of casual perceptions in the mirrors of intimate strangers; flash of light, splash of shadow. Our track cracks mirrors, distorts memory into mere wistful thoughts or fears too familiar for surrender Perhaps a truth exists of who we were--obscure desires which whipped us through the days toward oblivion, guilty consciences that flayed away our nights --only to be found as scraps digesting in scavenger gullets; fueling mindless instincts for a moment's more survival, an urge to propagate the swarm or just a burp of indigestion.
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