History has to live with what was here,clutching and close to fumbling all we had -it is so dull and gruesome how we die,unlike writing, life never finishes.
Life, Death, Die
The light at the end of the tunnel is just the light of an oncoming train.
Life, Death
We are all old-timers,each of us holds a locked razor.
Poetry
And blue-lung'd combers lumbered to the kill.
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