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Olivia Hunter Jul 2017
starving hysterically naked, purest form; revelations incumbent to revelation. He laments lost time, visions of men gone, to where his desires arrange the moonlit waltz with fear. Imported appearance, a mask upon the face of desperation, lonesome but for the hanging plumage against his skull. Mindlessly spilling rhetoric symphonies of the ideological kind, encasing a life suppressed to ransom, blind and deaf, starving and homeless; forsaken chiefly as abandoned by hope, and yet he continues on the road, for what choice has he but to beam tenderness upon his travel of sorrow and grace, fulfilling what was seen in experience by so many of greatness.

— The End —