scrawled words with a speck of blood giving accidental emphasis

[swampwater]

there's no point in these casual casualties of emotions, the infrequent trampings of the soul under the heavy weight of happiness? there isn't much good in indexing every critical hit to the protective shell? every ancient poet has died a blasphemous death clinging to the stale memories of the passions he burned bright in his youth, refuting his

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[cheeze]

...i should just say it in person. perhaps i will actually have the guts.