I cannot stay.
With you is life and never presume I want that.
I wish.
Death spurns us because we are not wise.
It swishes past with it's cloak of scorn
and looks down it's nose at our mortality.
I breathe with you and feel judged.
Somehow the closer you are,
the hollower it is,
until
the void (not made of hunger) increases and pushes you beyond.
I hope.
Of course I will weep.
Despair does define us.
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