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Death is but a postponement of love

“life is but a postponement of defeat,” he said and he died. gloriously melancholic beautifully violent and hollow..
what was it? his italicized sparks? his smolders? It feels like I have been postponing love for his after-death
it was his melancholy that left me with this addiction to the crackling sound of death my habitual defeat in this overrated loop fantasy of life and I cowardly resurrecting his words craving for his edible sadness  that my biles would fiercely mimic to comfortably relive deaths before love over and repeat and I cannot stop,  I cannot stop
beasts in captive, i am, we are proud, arrogant, longing and yet none we shall not apologize for refusal of defeat, I said
if life the utmost evil alien that time ever gave birth to is death a desperate love for life captivity?
immortality sentence  deathlessness uprising is our hopeful separations war
to escape one’s being or one's defeat

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