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Jan 24
Being Whorish
helps shoot my heart to the ground.
I want safety without nets

I want to suckle upon breast
But My heart and crown to rest
In the same place and in that my head detest

love lost to ****
Live like lice

I want something fine
Frigid forage in open fields
Mudded boots stuck to root and soot
I’m stuck again to ideas of prosperous activity.

That health follows body to mind and soul in suit.

but here I am stuck to boot my head again?

Cast idealistic creations.
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