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My words used to be constricted To the thoughts inside of my head Until I picked up a figurative pen And let the words spill Across the figurative paper. I have never felt comfortable with my voice
Greetings stranger, I am from the O.s. galaxy; many aliens have died in futile attempts to battle. Welcome to my mind, the requiem of of reality.
I wish I had the metaphors tolend description to the love of God.“A father throws his own son in front of a train…”What an inadequate thought. You threwhim from heaven to earth – no.More, he jumped.
another wave of nostalgia that i’m drowning under, which makes me wonder if i ever grew up outside of height, because i might be stuck in the same situation; jammed seatbelt.
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