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Dwindling Death
Fading away from the long familiar light.
The tendrils of life, wilting with a dark decay like it was infected with disease.
Death grasps at the vivacious, sucking the drops of energy as though it was nectar on it's withered tongue.
Feeling for the flesh that it has lost years ago. Flesh is but a waning memory, almost forgotten.
Death is a moonless night. No radiance in the pitch. It is nothing. Silence in the gloom, senses are absent.
A void in hell.
Whispers of death diminish in my hole of vacancy.
Nothing... I feel nothing. I am nothing.
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