i'm not sure the horse can carry me any further it's sweat slippery shanks frothing red your voice, your touch i don't believe in muses (in god in angels in goodness) but if i did.
you're all i have- and isn't it a cliche? for us? for me? (always about me) to be so - melancholia. cold and dry. bitter, bitter, i am always bitter.
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rl's journal