may 10th 2007.
Cast deep into the straits of blood.
How can I recount the years?
The wars weathered
Intrepid and forgotten endeavors.
Still I am afflicted with the disease called
Detachment.
Which was spawned by loneliness
For safety I employ tactical doubt.
But when the Skeptic isn't home
It's the lone Gunman and the tragic doubt.
It's the psychological disruptions,
It's a fever, a fervor, a tingle, that ache all over.
Tempting offers from nevermore, and never can exist
Searching for my exit from the straits of blood.
The sea of change
And tidal forces
That is my instinct that is nature.
The sores the spores the sources of fuck!
Reverberating down spinal cords.
Force of habit my tragic rabbits,
Flawed to the core.
The straits of blood
The resounding flooding notion
That I will always be like thi
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