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[toxicsully]

As focus returns so does this hatred. I rather everything I wish to be set to flame. To manifest myself in forms for which I harbor disgust. Feathers falling in the still air seem to me mocking, silent declerations of my futility. To rend beauty from brawn, to drown in scars hoping for rebirth. There is once again that wieght hung below these very

Comments

[anonymous]

hot son of a bitch.