creation thing
A crushed moth in my mother's throat is dreaming of a red lightbulb. The silence of our hair is too much. I say to brother break the same finger seven times you'll hear a churchbell. Eyesight changes what seeing owns.
A crushed moth in my mother's throat is dreaming of a red lightbulb. The silence of our hair is too much. I say to brother break the same finger seven times you'll hear a churchbell. Eyesight changes what seeing owns.

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