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Discussion Starter · #1 ·
Here's a little something I did earlier, hope it doesn't suck too bad:

Standing on the dark, glistening sand-scape, I was the ocean reaching out to touch one of your feet. The music was so perfect. Every note hit perfectly, shredding like a motherf###er. A rainbow of colors, tastes, experiences. Every day, dreams pour out. You're flooded in ideas, remarks, rumors, but you can still see through the din. It all seems to come out so perfectly, you always seem to come out unscratched. Good as new. Every day, more love and clarity. Young and able embodiment of power and vigor. I sit here, old. I feel like I'm dying. Maybe I could go run along the sand, or look up at the sunset, or even go for a swim, but that's it, I wouldn't hit any of the right notes, or mix the right colors. I'd paint it just the way I saw it. No feeling, no soul, no life, just a long dusty sigh from my alcohol-stained throat. I could just sit down somewhere and die, but do I? I remain, barely alive, colorless.
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