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Jun 2020
Gaunt, slipping through time, evading notice.

Buried alive, a small comfort, exaltation of terra firma.

Gauntlets equipped, not unlike shackles, once more into the fray.

Unearthed, foul arcana preserving an empty husk, begging for rest in moans.
What's in my head?

23rd of February, 2018.
Batchelor
Written by
Batchelor  30/M/Singapore
(30/M/Singapore)   
  198
     Bryn Kennell and Batchelor
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