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l'appel du vide
She was a virago, and I admired her for that.
She walked solivigantly, never looking back,
She walked into the forest so orphic,
and was on the tip of losing her viridity,
She started to become marcid,
As she found slips of her civility.

She realized she had imagined a paracosm,
The selclouth sounds led her to the end,
She’s sat outside by the lighthouse,
She’s sat as a paralian

The petrichor and the irenic sough of the water,
The soft wind and whelving of the miniscule otters,
All meant nothing and everything,
When she thought deeply and pondered.

She was a woman of intelligence;
She was sharp and keen,
But to think she would not commence,
To have had a redamancy
Was complete madness!

What a pleasure it would have been,
To have stayed in her paracosm,
To have not lived for a moment,
For there to have been no living organism,

Even so, she desired her life to be free of her rues,
Though she wishes her daydreams were reality,
She is sound at the lighthouse,
Despite the reality being she felt she was a perdue

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