Derangement

Folder: 
Hallelujah

 

Dusty desert puffing like smoke. The spurs spark the horse to giddy. Listlessly this reflection wanes its rays into derangement, dissociation. Ghosts from the grave clutch in spirals like to still a viny twine, mad clutching new dimensions and ceasing time. We stand forever in our own tombs. The same light which candles ignite dwindles to flicker the world.

 

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