Hold tightly to the last of the
Shrewsbury day-glow.
Death
Comes
Ripping.
It won’t be long now ‘til
the Queen of Porcelain Hearts
weeps
into teacup arms.
Dancing that wretched dance.
Walking steadfast beneath
frozen forest floors of asphalt bears,
slumbering through the amethyst static.
dig yourself out of the snow.
Autumn architecture crumbles into
purple
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