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■ I know what you're thinking, father
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In the nest of your breast
I was born a white page a promise in eternity a raw source without love undrinkable then as dark ink crumbled on many of my days for at the far end only hollow sounds unravelled This cry in the night it was mine So afraid in the dark my sole link here where all is misfortune jumping sheep over my rubble to forget the abyss of oblivion deep within my dry well In incandescence of my addictions dependance blows to wear off my excessiveness now shall a dead feeling conjugate the existence of this black hole this void dug by my setbacks of all those empty nights Veroflame October 5th, 2005 Copyright ©2005 Johanne Farmer
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