in hell there is
no
escape from your
wild
little imagination
there
is only truth
this
being it greatly,
life
is not this flesh
nor
this need for anything
there
is only truth
this
being it greatly,
life
is not this flesh
nor
this need for anything
your laughter danced like sugar on a shaky table, one blustery, pointless afternoon
why, it was heaven...
what is it about wind that intoxicates me?
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