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Tree taps on my window

Beyond this reflection of my wooden carcass;reaching for perfection in orange clouded skies, smelling now the misconception burning from these tired eyes.
Seeing faces in the branches, or hands or focused fingernails;scratching at the dismal surface of someone's only point of view. This curse, cast aside, hollow as the wishing well..sickness isn't just becoming, but being as part of the spell.

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Author
Just

Created
2018-11-26 04:27:30

Views
92

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