There is no shore here
only the drowning sky,
pressing its cold hands against my bones
until even memory forgets the shape of my face.
The colors bleed like old wounds,
blue rotting into black,
and the wind carries whispers
that were never meant to be heard by the living.
Perhaps we are nothing
shadows dreaming of form,
brief sparks swallowed whole
by an ocean that devours names,
and calls it eternity
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