1. |
Nigh Obsolete
02:55
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Sanguine spaces provide for dry wails calling out to reflections of our loss—good things in meteoric frequency bide time for our sentence. What a time to be alive, still with hundreds more to die: erased and eroded.
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2. |
Ghost Matter
03:57
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Steadfast, my lungs, to the rushing river; subtract our restful vividness and flaking skin. Moonlight erodes the shadow bore of our stillness. Erase, erode.
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