encryption
what does it become? when time is slow i can trace God’s hands, it almost feels too good, they were pictures just like me, wading in the reflections of better suns, it comes to destroy unhappiness, like music absorbing souls, it fades with thoughts at three fifteen, when i become someone else, its easier to see, i am free to be me, hollow, pure, and innocent, like a child asleep, where life is better than it appears to be in pictures. Written February 13th, 2002 © on Feb 13 2002 04:37 AM PST, midnite_raver 0 • 10
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"what does it become?..."