Mercy, mercy. The idol is the ruler of the eyes in the land where lies are bland and cries cannot come sooner. It’s a crisis, for the dust settles when the only understood outcome is foreseen. All alone, buzzed, semiprivate, confused. Visions of rest without distress. Did the emptiness regress to the pitiful death? Beauty conquers that arid land in contrast to the blindness. Half can’t be trusted. Where is the love?
~That Dude Eddie~
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Love and Peace.