Aside from this world many fell apart. I touch the split seams; skilled hands of experience beyond usual garment slips shed tears over these shreds. The middle of disassembled art is a smooth center yet to be woven. Who will venture this whirlpool to amend?
She looks upon me with the moment fleeting; defeating this shadow is my infatuation.
This is no life; this is no death. This I cannot describe inside an immeasurable map of flesh. Can we surpass the body? None are made to outlast worlds which come undone.
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