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the boggy muck seeps down the streets

and the shouting makes no sense.

masked memories appear from the void

disguised as grand fantasies that

choke any awareness of descent.

the cities are exhausted from

cravings that show no mercy.

who can answer this blight but one

who has crawled out

from the quagmire themselves.

one who has shaken away

the broken bottles and rusty needles.

yes, there is hope.


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