Loudly and to nothing
It springs from the tip of me,
A congestion of ruby leaves and lips and sad rusty suns.
The coolness inches on the glands of the air.
How soon and regularly it visits with its subterfuge of
Traumafession:: Reader Clegane on Aguirre, the Wrath of God - Greetings from Ukraine! I’m a long-time lurker of your amazing site and want to tell my little story of Kindertruma and TV. I was eight and was alone at ho...
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