November
16 December 2008
"Curl like smoke and breath again, down your throat, inside your ribs, through your spine, in every nerve" Tre månader till oss och jag älskar dig så mycket.
Myriad lives, like blades of grass. Yet to be realized, bow as they pass. They are cold, Still, Waiting in the ether, To form, Feel, Kill, Propagate, Only to die. Dissolve Magically, Absurdly, They'
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