Alone... the butterflies flaps cut sorrounding me... my troath is a knot... the rain is coming from the north... my shadow is still dry... I'm just shy... I'm just shy...
...my story is written between lines... a cosmic debris... give me end.
A long time ago, the simplicity of my thoughts began to dissolve... now, wired to the ground I can smell the delightful waves of mental perturbations, avoiding illness, confuse and reasons to kill yourself.
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