I’d Save The Reader Years
The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...
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To capture visuals in words. To write a tome. The mysterious wire between parallels. Care training. Life as irony. Any given craft will...
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I looked in a mirror and said, I know you not. At an impasse in development, wondering about diamond ink. And memories linger, forming cit...