Occult Fan Boston, Massachusetts
Carbon copy of infinity, winter wreathes, yeah that is me. Summer flies and autumn crisp, tender spring fresh swollen lips, yeah that is me. Someone spit into a cup mixed it with ash and dirt and blood. The crickets by the edge of the sea, the sheen the gleam the crystal of their wing, the ever swift and tilting world, the laughter of every boy and girl, the wonder, the magic, the truth, the love.
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