What a treat when the darkness creeps.
So much zest as it bleeds on numerous amounts of scrap heaps.
Nesting in the outskirts of your subconscious, waiting for the incentive, inclined to push the realm of trust.
At the forefront.
All smiles, waiting for the boils to subside.
Such beautiful gestures, that one day we would be alright;
though we had never defined such period to a specific degree.
No demands in the calm,
and so we stand hand in hand with sweaty palms.
Murdock
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