Impulse Write 2

Draw nothing into the lungs
But this end, but this one
When the controls are dulled
And the times prove themselves to continually draw worn
As the broken blades
Of grass and steel surrounding in a chronic state
The candles are waning
As moonlight is fading
And the crimson red pays it’s promises
To the disappointment within  again
Persisting in its timeless innocence
Finally reconciling the death and breadth of the current state we’re in…

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