When I die, I want to decompose in a barrel of porter and have it served in all the pubs in Dublin.
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Friday, April 9, 2010
gone.
ashes blowing in the wind-
a sign of no remorse and
rash reactions.
the energy has changed
twice over.
the places you’ve been are
now cold. alive.
the very walls breathing
a sigh of relief.
the emptiness now soothing-
familiar, irrational,
final.
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