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I tried to draw you but i could never do it justice.
I just couldn't record your perfect sadness.
Nor the smile that wouldn't crack through that day
I couldn't etch this paper with the outlines of your face.
Those outlines i traced a thousand times that night.
with my eyes.
trying to make sense of them.
You told me i couldn't change them.
And somehow i knew it before you spoke.
It weren't that the edges of your face were broken.
They could never be.
Not ones so beautiful as those.
Sure, you have your little imperfections -
your hair falls oddly, sometimes,
the small dot on your nose,
divots around your mouth when you frown-
but i love you with them.
And even think most of them are beautiful.
Though i never could bring myself to like those divots.  . .
I guess because i never liked it when you frowned.
You'd tell me i needed  more than luck to cheer you up,
but that didn't change the way my heart wanted to make you smile.
I can recall only rare occasions when i did not have that desire,
even those were just occasions it was underneath another emotion,
a darker one, a heavier one i'd trade away any day to make you happy.
I knew i loved you that night.
It made me ask some hard questions.
Are we bad for each other?
Should i hate myself for this-
for what i do to her?
Not if you were worth it - but if i could stand it to stick around
but that answer didn't matter,
I'd do it even if i couldn't take it.
"I want to but i can't"
the chanting becomes ranting
like autumn leaves that leave the trees
falling from my lips with ease
but never heard above the breeze
the only sound from my mouth is the air that i breathe
my arm, maliciously stripped from fingertip to mid bicep of flesh, dripping blood, ragged and torn. I ****** it up into the air in defiance and victory, and in the spirit of this movement, the heart of it, my arm burst into an oak tree.
The rogue agent ***** me. I killed her.
The father was an impostor.
The president ate supper with me
and thanked me for holding him hostage at gunpoint
with his own gun, which apparently
had been empty (or held six duds)
The brother, well i three him down the stairs when
her dad looked my way.
I la in a sewer drain
listening to my ipod (extra battery)
while the incriminating files downloaded
over 24 hours- shock. Oh wait, it's 91%
Do you remember when everything we had
was just merry go rounds and shared
words and tears
shed over others
over several years
and not between ourselves
when our scars were the shapes
that childishness could still hide
and for the sake of others we put our desires on secret shelves
and we still talked and there were still lines to read between
and hide behind
and we used to walk and together lose our minds
in parking lots sitting in trucks
bad to the bone - thats what those moments were to us-
when windshields scattered tears of the sky,
and as much as we laughed we really wanted to cry-
do you remember when you told me that you get scared in thunderstorms
so i always came to see you when it was raining
do you remember? Before i called you baby?
I still wanna be that, and i  am missing it lately
i'm sorry, but i'm sorrier those days escape me.
I am wisened by my wounds.
My thirst is sated by monsoons.
Scars teach me lessons.
Fighting for peace is my weapon.
Every memory changes a sliver of me.
Through time, i've turned into a motley pinata.
Pieced together haphazardly.
But i know what its like not to be afraid of taking a swing
and i know what its like to fly
because baseball bats give me wings.
Forgive me for saying so
but you are ******* beautiful.
Time seems to drift off listlessly, almost endlessly, almost ending, in one smoothe uncertain movement.
i lower my gaze to realize that the warmth that spreads down my legs is my own blood, draining from my veins. In a softly lapping waterfall stained beautifully crimson. Take in the handle of the blade that my body seems to draw in like a lover- with gentle caresses and a loving gaze. A flush warmth about my skin. my face nearly aglow. It is to those who watch it grim. But barely a smile escapes my lips. When i realize that the protruding hilt is equisitely ornate, crafted from silver memories of smiles, interwoven with platinum hopes i had for our future, inlaid with opalescent ignorance. It's irridescence reminds me of our bliss. Intrigued, i bear the blade and pull it free, loosing a metallic shower of rusted red and liquid iron. And in the split second i have left before after my last breath i expire, i lay my eyes on the blade.It is just as breathtakingly beautiful and forged from what seems all the lies you told to my face. Lies so laced with grace that i, the cynic, believed them in full. Dead, i don't even have time to speak before i fall. But i think
"your betrayal, though painful, is beautiful.
I'm not trying to hurt you but

you didn't have what it took
you don't have what it takes
with God looking it's be broken or break
with blood on our hands we spoke a day late but
today is the day that we choose to stop playing favorites
and pray them be saved from us and themselves

with cutting words spoken
its break or be broken
with hate in the air
it's be broken or break
such a pity
shame really
you'll never believe the truth
and I'll never know it
because you'll never say it
and I'll never show it
at least not well enough to satisfy you
not perfectly
But perfection's what you ask of me
Perfection is only the man i wish i could be
perfect is the man you only wish you'd find
empty, hollow thoughts that are stuck
inside your mind
Begging to have our eyes opened
we spend our days prayin or smokin
Sayin wer'e looking for something higher, higher

We walk on solid ground just as timidly
as the ripples  rippledthrough the Galilean sea
broke scared
broke scared around peter and Jesus' feet

write deep music deep music  
but we won't ever sing it in public
because we're afraid that we'll find
that when it hits the ears of the audience
it won't be worth the words we spent

the truth is

we look for
the Sermon in the suicide -
moral in the ****** of five

the truth is, the truth is
sometimes it's hard to find
Begging to have our eyes opened
we spend our days prayin or smokin
Sayin wer'e looking for something higher, higher

We walk on solid ground just as timidly
as the ripples  rippledthrough the Galilean sea
broke scared
broke scared around peter and Jesus' feet

write deep music deep music  
but we won't ever sing it in public
because we're afraid that we'll find
that when it hits the ears of the audience
it won't be worth the words we spent

the truth is

we look for
the Sermon in the suicide -
moral in the ****** of five

the truth is, the truth is
sometimes it's hard to find
Inspiration and two lines from a quote by joan didion
Got silken silver scratches etched deep into my ring,
their lascivious lines lick up and down like an ecg
they match the beat of my heart when with kisses i am carefree
It says surrendered but it's a constant act of surrendering
I twirl it in circles
I realize it is not a shackle
I realize that it is protection
That in its silver and ebony reflection
I see a more beautiful picture of the future of this thing
That where the esses sliver into scratches of black at their edges
i trace my faith, my face with my eyes  in introspection
and where the three ees travel in between the other letters on the ring
there on the surface, its purpose is surfacing
i forgot how to write
but there's revelry in spite of me
sounds and words inside of me
semantics trapping happily
sentiments tapping rapidly
on the inside of my skull

slowly i am lulled
inevitably pulled
suffocated slow
by lies as cold as snow
piled up in banks
as high as memories
of sour smokes
and trusted snakes
of shattered hopes
and forlorn aches
wounds i forced forgotten for ages
creaking out of their cast iron cages
locked no more, instead released
from tired hopes for truth
and worn out wakes for peace

over the candles,
across the white cloth'd table
I sip coffee as i stare them in the face
with a soft glance,
i slip into a subtle trance-
empty space on which to paint
the blackboard of my brain.

And there
maybe chalk will wash away in rain.
I was in a headspace where i had not written much or well for quite a while.  Standing in the shower, i thought "i forgot how to write". To follow came  the second line. then, formulating the meaning of such, it lead me along the idea that writing is incessant in my head and becomes a blur that needs to be let out. Its not that it isnt there - it always is. Rather, it is discerning the words from the amorphous mass that is the challenge for me as a writer. All the words and thoughts and emotions i possess boil under the surface in my brain. I often glance down from  above, and see nothing but a smoothe surface, ignoring the creatures there in the deep.

This time, i think the happening that lead to my not writing is in y havign been unable or un-ready to face wounds present in myself, fromt hings ive done, lies ive been told or told, of people i thought honest and true to me turning out to be frauds and transients and leaving my life.  The idea of sipping coffee with your hurts always comes back to me in times where depression is strong - thanks to a friend of mine who said to me something along the lines of "sometimes we dont need to solve our problems, sometimes we just need to sit and have a cup of coffee with them".

The blackboard brain bit is the way that i think in images and connected concepts- the same way i imagine a chalboard would be useful in illustrating- and a place to illustrate the details of each wound as i give them the attention they deserve. The trance that comes with trauma. The way it can empty all else from the mind and become the sole focus. And finally, the way that, hopefully, facing, illustrating, and looking intently at each, will assuage the damages.
All, nothing, or the next best thing
something, waiting, or living my dreams
They aren't black diamonds, just shiny black coal
Each with it's exception, each with it's hole.
two with their benefit, one with it's beast
none of them docile, and all filled with teeth.
Hungry and hurtful and all double-edged
And here i am standing, perched on a ledge
glance down, inhale, and take it all in
Too many ways i could lose, but only two I could win
So do i stand here still and stiff
or do i step, fall off this cliff?
Blood is thicker than water
without water too we die

The bloodrop and the teardop are kinded kin
even though you cannot see
they flow and frolic
within me
just beneath the surface
vermilllion and azure naids
enticing me
but hiding
just out of sight
in their shy playful naivete
eloquently exercise my capacity for speech
shamelessly synchronize, my look, your look, at you, at me
blush to rise up from somewhere deep within
sight to see through the mirrors behind you're hidden
reflect a face, another face, just to hide your own
a sound, a sound you make, from deep inside your soul
it's music rising against a ragged breeze
a bluesy beauty - ragged sound - that brings me to my knees
your soul to mourn its lack of woe?
rejoice instead amidst royalty
assaulted
by ninth period boredom
the clock has
been on 3:15
for fifteen minutes
(It isn't broken.)
When you give one rib for every woman you ever love
Eventually all you have left is your spine.
I don’t know whether to forget this and brush it aside
Or to just say I am tired and continue to let it lie
I guess I’ll find out what I’m made of
still being busted up makes me want to throw up
gonna bottle it up til i blow up
resentment i resent just fills me up
i hate being bitter it just burns me up
got all these people telling me i just need to look up
but the storm clouds in the sky they'sve got me shook up
sitting here believing everything happens for a reason but still thinking i'm a ***** up
i am quiet right here i am shut up
just gonna bottle it up til i blow up
just gonna bottle it up til i


                                           p              l
                                                ­          /               o
                               x            \           /               /            d
                                    \
             ­       E                           \      /              /      /               e
                         \              \
                                                ­                   /            /             /
                               \             \                 /             /          /
                                 \            \    \         /              /        /
                                  

                            ­         \             \ \     /             /         /
                                                     \ \ \ \/ / / /
i couldnt really get the same visual as in my notebook. explode is arranged in a firework patter...or it's supposed to be.
"brave new world"
written becauase the one before lost its courage
I am
breathless.
wordless.
my eyes attempt to take in
every little piece
of you.
They trace your edges.
Test them.
Dip into the shadows that your head
tilted down in shyness, nervousness, uncertainty mixed with certainty
casts across your neck
The ones that fade out as they reach for your chest
the same way i want to reach out and touch you
slide my hands gently across your skin
kiss you in places that i  never think I'd think to kiss you in
places i never imagined would curve so enticingly the way they did

I want arms
long enough to
reach out and pull you to me
until we share a
single
smoothe
edge.
I want you to
curve to my shape
I want to BE touched
and that fine line
is one I want you to brush your fingertips over
I'd relive it for pieces of forever.
I am willing to bury the hatchet
even if it's in my chest
but let's not walk forward under false pretense
you said for both of us it's best
but we are both falling apart
you with a smile on your face
and I, with an axe in my heart
kiss me like Saturday
give me butterflies baby
shocked out of shyness by a single kiss
yes, i expected it to be electric
but i never expected this
intense
we let our passions flow
from our lips and fingertips
our vision is blurry and we're losing our grip
on reality
we're loving blindly
with our eyes closed
and when they're open
when we catch our breath
when i am above you staring down into your eyes
and you are below me gazing into mine
even though it's been hours
it's still like that first moment
when you kiss me like Saturday
i get
butterflies baby

butterflies,
butterflies baby
i need you
i love you insanely
you give me
butterflies,
butterflies baby
Darkness cannot drive out light
what then happens when i shut my eyes?
when i spin into my head with clouds become sight,
and the whispers in my head are the most convincing lies,
what happens when i say I'm all right
when that's the last thing i could manage to be tonight
what happens when i let the red spring up from my soul and  sheathe down my arm
what happens when i embrace all the things that keep leaving me scarred?
The darkness wins, the light is out of breath,
the shaking, breaking,
leaves eyes leaking,
raw lines raking
my heart deep in me
the darkness drives out the light

i need emptiness for light to fill
so empty me and shine i will
I've got to beat this or it will bury me,
Deconstruct the tension even though i can barely see,
Un-cloud my vision so that i can fairly see,
Reform my mission so i can keep carrying,
on in a storm of dissonance in my beliefs,
it will rage on , and rage on, until i find relief.
I do not wish for escape this time, i want to find your face this time,
i need to know what's the truth and what's a lie,
can i love with love that's selfless, in a way I will not die?
Can i throw myself full on at the hearts of others
in some way that doesn't ******* me from my true lover?
Can i piece together by beliefs and find peace?
Can I put and end to this tension by cutting the string?
Is there a way lord to love my self and love selflessly?
I can't tell if this is a new wound or an old one
i can't tell if these are lies or if i told them
i can't tell if the sky is blue or green
i can't tell what i do or do not mean
i cannot tell that i cannot tell
i must have let it slip
i do not know that i do not know
oh now i do, oh ****.
enticed by the tongues of other lovers
i have wondered under the cover
of wildernesses and near misses
come close but never been romanced like this
had my heart held but compared to this all that was a just a tryst
deeper than eternity and farther than your edges
your desire, your fire, your water, are edgeless
rip me away in the undertow
let me forget that if i swim at the perfect angle i can escape,
set me so much on fire that my entire desire is to drown,
set me so much on fire that the only way for me to survive is for me to be new, being renewed, and thrive,
set me so much on fire that i am
hungry
thirst
to burn
to drown
I've got a feeling that I say a lot less
than my words wish to or attempt to express
I am a catalytic for healing, revealing, and relieving our mutual distress,
but trust, I'm as broken or more than the rest,
and i have something to give but i'm not sure what that is, so,
I'll do my best to release each thing that is in my hands,
to align and realign my motives, to show and show again,
the only thing i know is
exactly what you need.
I will allow nothing,
horrific even or grotesque,
to make me leave,
because you are beautiful and beautifully addressed,
as a daughter of a king,
it is a privilege for me,
to be so barren,
in a way i am undressed,
I will fight my best not to be ashamed of everything i throw before your feet
emptiness unfurled, i will not fake comfort
but i pray i do not fear to cast my pearls,
after all, you are not filthy, nor swine,
but clean, and a girl.

I would know you.
you make me wanna do stupid things
in all the right ways
you make me wanna touch you,
you alter my brain
i get lost in the reaction
you're the catalyst
there are cracks in the flask and
our chemicals seep deep into everything they touch
lets find out if this makes us hot or cold...
you celebrate something you believe you couldn't possibly have in high school.
cupid's arrows, sweet sentiments and chocolate kisses (not hershey's)
all to say three words you don't believe in -  yet
I remember a massacre on this day another year
and i don't mean when al eliminated the  competition for biggest badass
i mean a year ago. 2011.
you said i love you to me but you couldn't believe it
said you mean it but how could you, see it's
a contradiction and my affliction is trying to reconcile your actions to your actions
trying to make sense of what happened
still can't. but still can't stop
i guess i'm a man addicted to what he doesn't have and hasn't got.
It is hard to measure progress
when you can't tell if where you are
is any different than where you've always been
when it all feels the same
but you have an inkling
a tugging at the truth
that something
has changed
and it always
has been for good
It is in the winter that all dies
to become life again
new life in the spring
little one
huddled, hiding
in that place
i only ever arrive at
by spiraling

why is it that you fear
everything?

come out.
It may hurt.
It may not be safe.
But here
you can uncurl.
Clove kisses saturate remembrance.
The peaceful taste of antiseptic.
And  the smell of rekindling embers in November
Fires stoked with seasons.
sneak through my nose to rest on the back of my tongue
The autumn is screaming with the call of leaves dying,
But oh, they smell so beautiful,
and we are so warm.
While you were here, you barely let go of my arm.
edits: the taste of peaceful antiseptic
inserted 5th line.  
changed tense of "screams" to "is screaming"
we talked of
Collaborations.
Pieces of poets
Put together.
In lines.
You spoke,
and asked
if I would like to.
What could I say
besides
an exhilarated yes.
But one I can’t quite place.
There was…
Some connection there.  
In that moment.
Honestly, I am glad for my uncertainty
In my giddiness’s origin.
And I doubt
One collaboration will be enough
I’ll definitely want more of them.
Spinning,and sinning.
Trying to retreat from a repeat.
I need to be revived but so far only get deeper sleep.  
summer shimmers from a subtle spring.
I cascade into the evergreens.
Their color and my squalor are the only things that never leave .
I've got poems tattooed on me but they go deeper than my skin, ink seeps deep into my soul, as quickly as the pentip needle dips in, dips out, like an illicit lover who has disappeared in the morning, she comes, and she goes.
when the lighting lights up yellow,
It tells me that I haven't lost my thunder.
A mechanized millennium
studded
with silver rivets hammered from
the once glorious dreams of the populace
They are now all identical.
cylindrical
instruments that pierce the flesh of progress
conformity:
the price paid to advance across the toll bridge
that is "the betterment of society"


But bland and boring can hardly be better
than stark and standoffish rants of individual pipe dreams
They took those too-
the pipe dreams are now piping in the plumbing that runs beneath the streets
we walk all over them.
only half realizing they exist and not half caring
anymore
with spirits that lack luster our
low lackluster dreams are dying
I know of no man who is completely different from me. I own commonality even with my enemy. I find it there, deep, sometimes hidden, but never missing, in his humanity.  

For the sake of love I suffer much, and say “my pleasure”. I mean it.
Sometimes it is harder to mean than others, but i mean it.

Ah, when we come to the moment of the shattering of the mind, so many are afraid to fall off of the precipice. But friends, sometimes, a little insanity is the remedy. It is not the breaking of your reality, it is being freed from a cage you never knew you were born in.

I was not inspired by some grand thing that only i could grasp. I was inspired by bits of simplicity and truth that can be touched by any living person. And perhaps more so the dead.

Have you ever seen a normal person? I , for one, have not.
Everyone is strange.

Tonight i step from boxed in room to balcony. I spy the moon, and i understand that it has missed me. I have missed it much the same. And i do not wonder, but i know, that it is but a sliver of the way that i have missed you . You are more to me, even than the moon. Were it not for the moon, i would be lonely tonight. Were it not for you, i am not sure if i would be, but if i were, i would not be me.


I wonder if it isnt true that every act of love carries the risk of betrayal. And  for that weight is more beautiful. Perhaps some would call me an enabler, but i am simply a lover.

I am hungry. Much in the way malnourished children are hungry, and widows are hungry, and  every man is hungry. There is ever a hole in me, but ever is it being filled. I find this to be but a single blessing of eternity. I am sure that there are many more.  

Everything may recede into chaos, but my heart climbs to bliss. Everything may descend toward death, but it is to life i rise. Every moment may pass by as but a breath or a vapor, but a lifetime is worth living if it is lived rightly.  It is the summation  of those fleeting moments that become something of signifigance. Whether to ourselves or to those who we brush by in the ephemeral.

It is not over. It is never over, but it is finished. Complete since completeness knew itself. It, or he, if you so please, has no beginning, no end.

Welcome, to the grandest of adventures. Only wait and see and you will think  of me as a liar and of this as my lie. Go, do, and you will know me as truthful, and this as my truth,

I would say that thoughts assault me. But smoothely they do glide over my skin. They shrink to  encapsulate and caress, they slide into place and there come to rest, not weighty but tasty, and light, filled with opposite ends of worlds, and outlines that spin dreams, of families, and futures, and cute little girls with freckles and ginger curls.
I beat back the worry And the wish for me.
I provide you with a taste of my presence and my words.
I sate your hunger for my attention.
And then I recede into myself.
Ever I am in flux.
Are you hungry,am I tired?
Which need is greater?
How can I give to you what I do not have?
I hide my emptiness by hiding it at the bottom of my perceived depth.
If I seem deep, of is only because I'm digging the hole.
And I cordon off an acre around it,
Because God forbid somebody fall faster than I can dig.
Once you get to the bottom of me,
I'm just like everyone else.
Empty.
Hungry.
Lonely.
Trying to fill myself up,but unable to find what fills me.
Trying to sate my appetites,but they always grow.
Trying to feel known,but torn between hiding and showing myself.
Happiness evades me.
I am colored pervasively by my lack.
ANd if we are nothing now,
then we must have never been anything at all.
But if we are something, we are something,
no matter the cost, or the fall.
HP formatting necessitates line breaks. Originals did not break at the commas.
The audacity
that you would write a ***** a love letter
That you would in so many words announce your affections for a *******
Thay you would pour out your heart
to a harlot

But here in hand i have it
written in blood turned tan from time travel
caligraphy cornerstones that mark the foundation for forgiveness
lithography laden with agony for the cause of love

It's as if even now, i can watch your quill
as it traipses across parchment
fabricated from your very own lamb's skin
still marred with scars
rough and red
tears at it's edges
and holes torn by gashes

the audacity of that "I love you"
scrawled in the crucifix cursive of the creator of the earth and its
universe
unfurled to cut the mundanity with meaning


The audacity...


I am wordless.


My soul is far from speechless.
it nonsensical that i'm cynical
when love has always been  my pinnacle
i created a false dichotomy
between being loved and never being hurt
but that's just it, loving takes a lot of me
and it's covered me in years of blood and dirt
but that can't bury it's worth
i plunged my hands into the earth
expecting a dagger that laid dormant,
but the beauty that i found was stark, and storming
sharp, and thorny,
but with petals too, uncurling
not yet in full bloom, but soon
A  white rose will come under another moon
licked by drops of blood,
pricked from my fetid wounds.
The moon is behind the clouds in the morning
but it is still there
still round
still looks like the moon.
cherry blossoms
on a gnarled trunk
or maybe an oak
of sorts that blossoms
in the winter.
Dead, but living.
Dear death,
you are a fickle old man with a sickle shaped grin.
A cadaver cassanova with a scythe shaped smile
please come in and sit a while, let's have a little talk
why are you grinning? ... the clock stopped
wait! what are you doing?! oh it's me? im dying?
where are you going? Don't walk away from me!
you have a schedule to keep? oh, how naive of me to think
that i actually meant something to you
oh, i do? then why are you leaving so fast?
you have to go and me a gift? what is it?
He was going to get all id loved and left.
I'm asking questions like im socrates
and of course the answers aren't a shock to me
I'm asking for solidity
but not a single thing in this life has rigidity
It all don't mean nil to me, it's foolish to be
caught up in this world you'll see
the world is dying, all will pass away, we have not forever, we may not have a day
we are just a wisp, a vapor, the fading sound of a once struck chord
even i am only shattered metaphors
pieces of paper fluttering and torn
i hear their inky voices as they mutter and they mourn
there is near to nothing left of me anymore
i am only broken bits of poetry
smashed and spit on paper
I am only sickly similes, a sadly spoken satire
like wandering ghosts of memories and meaningless dreams
like meaningless hopes and desperate screams it seems
like things have taken a turn for the worse
and i may soon end up
in a homemade handwritten paper hearse
strangled by my verses
flayed alive by words then
left to wander wordless
my meaningless words have begun to haunt me, daunt me, it's daunting
and this is not me
I am not some needy scrap of paper waiting to be filled
I am a notebook half-filled with half-finished lines of half-realities
I am a dying man screaming at the top of my lungs as they are shattering
as i am torn apart by the desires of my own heart
It falls apart as i metaphysically massacre me
I blatantly
snip apart the seams of sanity and reality-what little few are left in me
i **** with words that flow from my pen
and then
I write for them revival
but my pen is low on ink and i think it's suicidal
It'll be a kamikaze even if i choose denial
and i don't know much but i know it's a vicious cycle
I dont know when it will choose to think
it's own end into existence
will it be, maybe
perfectly timed to persuade me,maybe
illogically, with all reason simply lost to me
that it chose to spit a little extra blood
a little extra ink
that it chose to save me from the next line i might make
just think, it might be more than i could take
it might break me, make me, mistakenly
the master of my own fate
This is death by poetry
rebirth by verse
If i write poetry again, will it be reversed?
not a revolution or evolution but
humanity
in words
this
is death by poetry
I write so my demons don't consume me
with a pen in my hand they flow through me
i turn my demons into ink so fluidly
that all they can even begin to speak is smoothly
my demons think they've got me beat
but with my text i break their teeth
disarm my demons with my metaphors
i slit their throats with my pen and they fall bleeding to the floor
flay them open with my similes
like wounds cut open to release disease
and spread their skin like butterfly wings
and with precision and delivery
pin them here for you to see

see
my demons flow through me like ink through a pen
so i pick up their cage and i confine them
put the cap back on and snap it into place
i might look calm but there are demons beneath this face
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