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Death wasn't sleep.
Death was ugly
And final
And terrifying
And sleep was tranquilizing
And reassuring
And you found that person the next morning
Breathing through clear lungs
And his pulse evident
In his thumb
But death
Was death
You're alive
And then you're lying motionless
Ten feet under the stale ground
And then you're nothing
But decomposed skin
And cold bone.

january brings back memories woohoohoo

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