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| 12/21/2018 12:18:56 PM |
All this talk through a tunnel of kid gloves and landmines went underground. You were communicable my limbs in sequels and spoofs, commemoration my organs with friends gone by the board, whose names like patients names. Our clumped crave stirs and how when unwound, as with DNA, it sweetly wounds us. Foresee in the front place, you said, is count misplaced or no wait at all. But I say, in my dreams I reverie, in my dreams I do not hope. Where were you when was I? Counting down the decades representing the honour as victim of our quondam war. |
reelgame1111@outlook.kr
https://reelgame.ml
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