Despite my lack of intricate script I can still read the depths of a mind. Or better yet a sewed eye in through your brighter side.
Liquid outstretched your hands and hunched in static you'll find my old bones, corroded tones and sinking sands. It's not like you to expect these silhouettes are gaining stride where tiny indications insist it's going to happen soon.
-on thoughts that I've lost a touch.
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