poetry

for what is dying, is worth living… 

​i can’t always clearly see the light we hold. through the smog burning from the rubble. ruins of walking corpses, scattered across the grounds. preaching scriptures of the divine, that they think of themselves. a so called hallow soul, rotting within the hearts they keep almost as closed as their minds. as i can’t help but to tell myself, a dying love… is worth living. 

-joshua ryan stewart

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