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Mane

·70 words·1 min

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One day we’re here and suddenly we’re not
A fragile piece of glass on which we tread upon
The constant what ifs makes the living rot
What’s it all for, for in the end we’re all gone
Very few try to find beauty in the mundane
For so many only feel desolate and bleak
But we all desperately try to wear a Mane
For living is not for the weak…

Labyrinthine
Author
Labyrinthine
Coffee and a shot of cynicism