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Across Elysian fields of jade where phantoms no longer linger

Tendrils of oleanders creep ever-closer to my withered, brittle fingers.

Climbing upward, the thorns constrict around my neck.

Yearning for the specter to return to the vacant leer of my gaze.

Here I ossify in solitude, awaiting my demise

Bitter glimpse of dreams out of reach.

Grasping the wisps of smoke that remain.