A r r o w pointing spinning, twine trees wheeled bruises, a heart left p o n d e r i n g . mind absconding thoughts unprocessed as desires flee deep in the art of the i n n e r . The sun is shining but brisk reality pokes at the somewhat emptiness somewhere with s o m e o n e . calm and raging storm brewed from a raw o c e a n e d t e a, free. Trapped but f r e e
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