Distractions: A Book of Poetry

Poems that I've written

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63. Combustible

Everything is glowing like Xmas, but there are no

 

Presents, there is only the

 

Looming cloud of death, hanging

 

Over us all, casting a gruesome

 

Shadow that no one can escape.

 

It reaches out a single hand, resting its fingers

 

On the earth. Suddenly,

 

Nothing exists anymore.

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