Death subsides, in the arms of a cube

Now here it is, the birth of benumb.

I can speak, you can hear;

But not my dreams, nor my like.

Clinical, and depressive

Sunset is the hope.

“The sun sets for sure and everynight. The sunsets are un impressive, brings dullness and frustration. Death of a mind happens as one is forced to move into a un interested frame of life. He becomes benumb and least productive. One is alive, but not  his usual self. Everything seems soo clinical and depressive. But the only hope is the sun sets to rise again. Heart is burried but not dead.  When the sun rises again, the dreams may relive”

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