<.letter here.> is for poison.
Take my felt feet out of the cement
You’re stuck to the ceiling, seeping out of walls.
O costumo danando, de falar de homem.
About Me
Populace of Prisms
Resting in that prism; a population of magnificent reflections. Revealed in the diamond edges, ideas bounce from light. Contours are made home to ideas of crystal clarity when you hold your prism in the fullness of your hands.
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