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This is torture that it is

This doubtful state –

Bliss-less, listless –

Breeding ground

Enzymatic hate

Entropic heat

Irrevocably clean

Slate but dirty laundry

And full and empty glasses

And lost and found

And too soon,

And too late

Posted by:Flash

words, love, science, poetry and life.

One thought on “Doubtful

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