17. Cramming

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Faintly running
through the foggy trench of "Deadline City,"
chasing clouds—
barricading the crimson rays of vanilla twilight;
fagged as I sprint—
as the darkness crawls to seize the kingdom of light.
I sat and stooped,
facing the cracked, enormous stone table of "Aslan."

Carelessly scribbling
shallow words spilled from my precious ink—
hastily driven from
the very tip of the dagger-like ebony pen of "Mr. Clinkz."
As I sail to
the eastern ocean full of papers—filled with streaming sweat,
I squeeze
my brain to flow the extract of melting thoughts from the sleepless night.

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