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crawl under the finest rags and deem ourselves: royals

fickle and shrivelled morsels that go by the name of dreams

winter a slip in the wrong direction and the world laughs

dear paper cup you’ve been warned of these tears

we’ve answered to the photograph with a cynical cry

how human of us to be empty and unbecoming

wraith-like storm clouds deliberate our misfortune

been dreaming recklessly and for a good reason

dusk we salvage the kind word from the storm of emotions

strange how dust clouds settle calmly in the wake of your wrath