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There are the things you never tell your friends
Like the fever dreams of ruined Carcosa
The tragic residents there reduced to rumors
That swirl around the madness of their King in Yellow tatters
All that remains are the faint whispers
That accompany the steady creeping horror
And how you are driven to invent stories from them
Because you cannot bear the thought
That anyone else should have to suffer
Forgotten in the wake of another's misdeeds

Created: Apr 20, 2014

Tags: homage, poetry, free-verse

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