waxahatchee
Sleep’s house is a debt that denies three dawns. I changed my mind about ghosts. They are the tombstones of angels. My mind seduced a star that was alive. Sound can’t kill its brother if I am sucking on my cuts in a cornfield. Today I wrote a resignation letter in invisible blood and the wind slut-shamed touch. Sound has a shy daughter. Two sisters named Cain asked me to dream.
kingsoftrain 
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