I feel like were getting something like a rhythm back, and then I lose it all. Things build up and then things fall down, broken windows. My writing suffers, my allusions seem juvenile + underdeveloped. I doubt my abilities and I wake up in real life, realizing that I am just another one like all the rest, caught and trapped. It's a running track.
From undulations of deep down embryonic sea
To heaving stars of pressure suspended in nothing
Hover between the two paired lovers
Pulling hair + twisting limbs: Sea Sky : Sky Sea
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