His voice cracks while chanting sutras, caked with decades of woe.
Torn natos left at the wake ...
This is, this is, this is.
All humming, stuck together with honey and blood, strung up beyond eternity.
She is a stone sinking, sediment dropped in the ocean like a bomb, unknowing mother of liches and lichen, witches and vikings, thick eggs and christlings.
All are born in others' coffins.
Sepulcourtesy.
I want to see o too, but survival has never been my priority. I just want the knowledge that comes from walking barefoot on the nife.
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