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the blank

i paint the blank about as well as any gilded painter of the renaissance from the foreing stretches of my heart i sculpt it: dready monologue, self portrait my one work of art of fear and sandstone, membrane, chills i fear it gives me comfort; as i know it, comfort kills.
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e
Written by
ella-1
Finnish
Published
May 11, 2012
Lines·Words
13·51
Notes

i've had lots of english and geography which inevitably result in this

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