Never tire of quenching this thirst at the goblet of totality.
Sing your praises every day, this flame that holds reality.
Writhe in the bed sheets of gilded creation.
Thrash in the pulse of creative elation.
A simple, soft soliloquy can save the sundered soul.
Suffering sing us whole.
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Author:
Quemis (
Offline) - Published: November 14th, 2018 02:40
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 32
Offline)
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