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Aug 2014
Sleepless in space. Sewing pillows in your dreams wishing deeply to comfort that will only be seen. Adventurous advisories flutter on, flutter on. You obedient Abraham, you will solemnly **** your son. But not today amidst the peddling rain. Swallow sorrow, swallow pain. You won't be this arrogant pest. The loudest note was always the symphony's rest. Rest. Does the night spill over like linens in a basket? Does the man in our head miss the cue mark, rushing to mask it? Covered in monotony and monopoly. Close your eyes and relax your arms to mend this folly. But we all are brothers and pay for what we wield. No sleep for the kindred, "Let's go out to the field."
Middle Class
Written by
Middle Class
397
   SPT
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