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April 30, 2014
Diving through disquieting ardors reflecting shards of bright agony off the tarnished metal worn within chambers where self inhabits its idea of self sans digestible manners acquired as tools wielded in the furnace pits stoking the ovens forging reasons, like blades, for defending the right to keep aloof, then such becomes the bitter irony when floating mirrors see what's never seen till far too late, the offensive delights seen for distorted disbelief held as true, burnt on the metal armor biting in the skin, resenting its vibrancy, coveting the blood patterns, wishing upon nothing's grace for emancipation's truest pleasure principle.