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don't begin to tell me otherwise struck life into the darkest night of death's iniquity

evermore the seams torn at the point of restitching up the skin peeling oft bleeding

twas the mind there before there was thought, was the thought there before mind

ever was, was the conciousness something growing beneath the mindless discovery

was the overload describable by the words unspoken, written in soliloque, revelry

writing words unspeakable and talking about nothing at all then, what it is, nothing

all before there was a thought to be, all was there for an instance at the bottome of

the epophany, what is a revelation anyway, wherefore unto thoughts invigoration

something hereforeto unknown once before now known once more to be, forever

lasting thing drifts on down the stream into the sky bleeding at the sight of a such

a question then, twas it thee, shall it be, further than furtherest deep, deeper than

the common understanding oft had for revelatory beleif of the unfolding petals

blossoming into spring for falling for a theif of the evervescent depth of the roses

death at the hands crushing madnesses into the warmth of another dying day, one

just arisen at the sunless dawn for colours thrown and shattered mirrors talk twice

once behind the eyes and deeper into the mindlessly conceived entropy masked as

illusion, twas it then a trick, twas it thee, shall it be one more time to falter line like

wings spread open beneath the sinful sun burning up for feathers dost ignite the

sky beneath the black moonlight little is it, time, moreso less than nought could be

grasping at the nothingness for words that find reflections speaking blasphemy unto

me, thou dost see thyself in me nor do I nor does thy gravest meander through thy

garden desert through the starless canopy through the blackest of the lightly drawn

where shall the mark be sought, where shall the sand be caught before it falls, far

before it twas ever thrown beneath the sparkling light of the sunshine within the

home see here to this the golden endeavour the misaligned distances to find wher e

it begins and ends before the song was started and far along the way of the captives

thought processed within constructive crosses roped, tossed the whole damn thing in

an away message, where hast it i have been, where have I been thou sayest unto me

what is it that thee know and what more, what more is it thou can tell unto me, speak

reflection splintering out from the lucid screams felt somewhere and heard, never, and

when it twas that thou wast there and I was here once more, standing there before it

was kneeling on the floor, written unto myself the repeating skip, forever was a time ago

history in death's robes robbing me of time, stealing once more the diamonds from the

baskets three yet, which is it now, and what shall it be when thou ist done with me, wicked

fiend, oft the reflection not matching the movement of the feet ever receeding deeply

into nightfall, darker than the blacker thoughts enlightened by the black blood spilling

from the chandelier from the black flames hanging upon the wicks of candles melting at

the touch of the mind before the mind it twas before the consciousness aligns with one

just one more shall it be, just one more time, please, rips the doves wings cleanly, the

blood shall be, it lingers in the midaires before collapsing once more to the knees at

the table carving initials with the teeth plucked from the skull fucked for the nightcap

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