The hscMature

Shattered, fragmented are our souls like a mirror dropped from a balcony.
Cracked as when we Los lost ones.
So frail are we that the meagre things make us tick.
To continue to breathe is so hard, so unfamiliar.
So eery it reminded us of the moonless nights.
I shall say it, "I am done." Done from what? That is a question best left unanswered for it is not one thing, but all things combined.
Slowly, slowly and more slowly ever so slow his mind has become so void of meaning, not a thought heard, the only thing seen are the bugs crawling out of eye socked.
To even grasp the feather was such an extraordinary motion that he would have rather allowed the feather to drop even though it carried his ever lasting memories.
Fallen, lost is it into the dull alleyways.
Oh he sees something seeming so familiar but he could not grasp it.
As he let the feather go so to was his memories.

The End

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