Peel the face away and
look beneath, finding no
beauty, that myth dispelled,
another confirmed that yes,
we are all ugly underneath,
wet and rotten, messy things.
Grace falters, acuity fades,
style is lost to time, substance
corroding and becoming
inconstant.
All the fairest statues are
but hammerfalls away from
dust, but centuries away from
ruin, and these are the more
lasting treasures, perhaps
lingering long beyond
creation’s touch.
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Across Inconstant Breath
Would that this skin this frail armor atop the husk of slow departure - Would that it held against the teeth of night's maw a...
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(in honor of the apparently, partially visible periods I use to alter spacing) The suggestions of gravity ...... Are sometimes taken and... ...
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Prove this with your science, Hercules, you with your trials and madness, soaked in the blood of the vanquished. Prove this with your scienc...
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The shapes of animals move against her skin in the dim light, the forest reaching out to touch the essence, sick with need like I was then, ...
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