time is a slow assassin. foul with the echoes of when. sharp with the choices to come.
we move through these heavy skins. hungry to be bruised.
scavengers with gravity in our pockets. waiting for the sky to collapse.
the end is the only promise we can keep.
as we collect our dirty pennies. and stand over the edge to watch them fall.
numb with misspent wishes.
we lock our doors and look under our beds.
only to discover that the monsters are real.
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