If the endless seas under the moonlight could consume my being and conceive my creations.
I would be anatomically flowing through a sequence of understood, consecutive studies formulated into truth. For the eyes will behold. Could be seen as the prostitution towards an idea, that idea which ripped from the soul and rampaged through a journey well spoken and forever told. Unraveled through an uncanny living. A folklore to your reacurring dream. Or so it seems.
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