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Prequel to a Blue Cookbook Words of a Wounded Soul


burrito sama
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Cross-hatched
Cross-hatched lattice blade-works trace against the grain of melancholy monotone and numbness drawing frames for visions seeking meaning in a man without a way, a slowly seeping visage of feeling in decay. A burning memory for one, alone, that screams when voice cannot~ A cry of bridled rage released with waves of tears in empty streets as chattering bones meet gnashing teeth with friendly smiles and rosy cheeks. All a rouse, a game, a jest and without pain it's meaningless but same is true for happiness. Vexing riddle, emptiness.




 
 
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