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The Sickness/ Fire Flower
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Forward From The Transcendence Woven lighting,
shes striking.
Her touch is,
lightly,
stained with sweet
tiding.
I walk blindly,
following the sweet chiming,
Her elaegent mind refined,
to my ears its as if she
speaks in rhyme.
Yet, this is dirt.
Loves mean,
and love hurts.
It hurts so good
wed rather keep the cancer.
just to remember.
