Day 19
Toiling where it's dark as a tunneled dungeon and peering roots drip damp as the dousing dew.
Where danger is posted up double for dare and pleasures are the few things that deaf songs can bear.
Where the rain seeps, slithers and sweats but never falls and the sooted sun never shines at all.
It's pencil-black dark as a dungeon behind way down at the bottom in the mine.
Grasping mind, where summon now I the demons of death and fate.
Twists often come by dawn surprise.
One chalk scratch fall of the learned slate and you're blog buried alive.
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