Monoliths

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There are a great many things in this world that do not make any sense,
Yet they harp at our minds and keep us picking at sores.

Do they have to make that noise?
Like a static in our morals.

Their dancing distracts us and keeps our thoughts.
They keep our thoughts revolving.
Neither resolution nor erasure to be had.

Their smell like sweet ammonia.
And acid in a chocolate.
They grow like vines,
and decay like a monolith.

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