464465467- None of this is real…

Except for that one cry that still isn’t a cry

Plain.

And desperate.

Diminish further in its nonexistence.

Now the only thing Xanther could ever hear.

Cutting through everything. As if all of this might not exist at all — :.Nor could ever exist.:

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About xoebien

La poëta au cachot, debraille, maladif, Roulant un manuscrit sous son pied convulsif, Mesure d'un regard que ;a terreur enflamme L'escalier de vertigo oú sábîme son âme. -Charles Boudelaire

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