. . . (ambitioushope) wrote in yourfoodsupply,
. . .

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this plae has been quiet. so here [:

what is this saddness that creeps toward me? it is moonrise, it is day break. I breathe, i exhale, i sigh, and do not sob. These sounds are mute and fall on these walls as tears on a child's face, scraped by pavment, raw. where is a mother, a soft voice, a nice smell. where is the light, the stars who fell to hit and create a cause of this crash. there is red peaking through from blue veigns onto white skin. this shade, this fog, we are sinking in. who is this. who you tell me. we name this world a battle scar, and move to concur, and move so far
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