It was the disappearance that churned my stomach and turned my heart black.
It was not the veil of fog that was lifted and revealed the distant sight
of vines and spider webs that joined to trap me in.
The pavement where so many enjoyed walking, before the rain.
The accumulation of saliva and food, everything turned white and tasteless
The marching of footsteps.
It vanished into oblivion where time stand stills and black cloaks cover the eyes.
It is where people say that the sparrows sing their last song,
and hide when their wings are broken.
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