His skin’s surface lost purpose, and nothing on the outside flourished.He was malnourished, an
His skin’s surface lost purpose, and nothing on the outside flourished.He was malnourished, and his brain began to grow more porousfrom the preacher’s sermon. He was convicted and nervousand worsened by the condition of his old epidermis.Now fate looked to hate with no mental debate,As the day became late, his heart formed a gate.His unclean slate could not equate to his failure to concentrate.He was not feeling great.Self-pity is not a muse,it’s a beautiful Siren.Don’t let my words confuse;it’ll drag you to Leviathan. -- source link
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