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Below surface

Weeks have passed

Memory

of light is lost

Hunger grips

And thirst sets in

Throat as dry as sand

While wet the moss does brim

Desparation

Makes the cult

Embrace the moss as spring

Soon they halt

The droplets from

the moss to drink

Thirst is quenched

Now hunger screams

Devouring the moss

Start to feel

The walls now move

Once the high sets in