Stings my face to say the least, the darkness colliding with it. The asphalt rushing beneath me as my body pulses. art. because it's different. Carving out the face of the street, strumming against my ears. So forth lies my soul, and my being.
Nothing is found but the empty space. The desolate ground that only I knew. Reaped the fruits of my sorrow. Seeds.
Empty space, the desolate soul.
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