The rising sun reminds me of heart-rot, and as the dawn breaks, so do my mold-filmed eyes. I can feel the bed beneath my back collapsing, and, as I sink, I am reminded of how everything else was beautiful. Could I ever have been free?
The rising sun reminds me of heart-rot, and as the dawn breaks, so do my mold-filmed eyes. I can feel the bed beneath my back collapsing, and, as I sink, I am reminded of how everything else was beautiful. Could I ever have been free?
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