| There is a particular flavor of despair Perhaps you've tasted
it?
What makes water rust the metal it loves, Clinging to it, condensing on it, Killing it with it's slight imbalance, It's slight ionic polarity? Oxygen: the acid with which we whisper, With which we breath falsities like those huddled trees. We rub elbows like trees do leaves, We cough to our fist... tug our sleeves. This oxidation makes us show our mettle, This breath of death-like-life braces us, quickens... There is a particular flavor of despair Perhaps you've tasted it? The taste is of frozen metal, tongue touched- and tied. It makes you wish you had never opened your mouth!
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