spit

as I gently spit into the depths of your soul, as I gently weep onto your eyelashes, I control nothing, I am as useless as a woman.  The feelings break, there is nothing but purity resting on the arms of triumph.  It is a lonely place here with you all.  I feel sundry, I feel like my eyelashes have been rended from their roost.  I feel.  A damp body and a tired mind, the need for something greater than godliness, but less than the most minute sigh of a whisper, that very thing that denies us provedence and relaxes the core of our minds into this emptiness.   Goodness is for all to enjoy, our hearts are open to the changes they employ.  Our minds hide under, eyelashes torn asunder, seeth and grow to despise the truth.  Nothing can ever move this thought.

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