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Dust
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7 Birches
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Maybe there's no lights to run to and all you’ve learned fades away. Maybe deaths a dreamless sleep and if so, is it alright to be afraid? Cause the thought of being nothing scares me so damn much. The idea of an afterlife is my only crutch. Is fear irrational because we won't be aware of the void that swallows us all without a care? There are those who claim death won't leave a mark and some whose last words were “all I see is dark” How are we content when emptiness awaits? We prepare but no one escapes After I’m gone what will I be? Picture on a mantle some ash at sea? What will I leave behind? Who will know my name? And how many lives will I have changed?
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