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Web of Thieves

the blank page, the white mask, yet a thousand years in the distance passed, the stone

was a post titled catchy, and the catchy title of the post in the trash was the catch. because

the post erased it-self in front of my eyes, the white mask lingers still, a thousand more


letters to be written, a thousand more words to distill, the clock was enough to chime the


mirror off the wall, shining glass slipper that floor of the hall, cracked, the egg shell


not a chance it ever twas, visions vast containment, broken yet also, the flower arrangement


bleeds into the garden art in ways so mysteriously, one is to forget that one is looking at


and effervesce into belief, the mind in ways is masking true realities captive, ship, sail on.

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never was there such a hand beneath the sin play to the part of the devil's grinning twas there such a death as to it

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