it's not so bad
slide underneith the reason of time and logic of water floods through gates made of fool's gold but it's not about the preservation of sake as it is about trying to cope with one's lost lovely feelings like needles flickering in the haze of afternoons that bloom a bloody tune aligned with the sights of a million tragedies that speak of whispers but hum silent white light heating severed luck that is misplaced in the patience of inadequate timing.
posted by fillshe @ 1:33 AM
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