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My silence converted to word.
the boulder of my own helplessness opposes transcendence, which I had decided to shame and to make my temple of wind up to the paradise in heaven. and where up there a beautiful soul man asks me what the words are when I must talk musically and to make feelings when the parable is excited genetically and when I try to say the speech is unjustifiably half the words. with those clarity from the lucid gaze I envision on the lights to the zenith where the sadness and the vague nostalgia of the viral nostalgia give me thoughts soaked in a desert and sublime virgin virgin my smile and cheek.
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Jeflea Norma, Diana.
Läst 177 gånger och applåderad av 1 personer Publicerad 2018-11-16 20:02 |
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