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Soap Box Poets

Dying in Oblivion
© by Leszek Bonikowski

Cold silence
No ticking clock
No screaming bird

Moonshine on my bed
Soulgarbage scattered on the floor
Sleeping is no more than an exertion

A fiercely slap on my chin
Something eating my tissue
Is it famine, is it imagination?
Of reasons long forgotten I suffer

This is my salvation


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