Flooded tunnels.
There's a happy medium pouring from clenched muscles,
vibrant and clotted,
begging to illuminate bright canvas,
eager to illustrate the horrors of womanhood,
while indirectly emanating beauty and giving proof of life.
"Thou shall not hide me any longer."
Oxygenated blood cells,
interior conflicts battling out the truth.
What it means to
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if I'm wrong, I'm really sorry.
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