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There's a voice that lives inside my head,
Shy from expression and interpretation,
That gives me right to sink inside of nothing.
Where I can be.
Where I can be a vast migration.
Forever, fleeting endorphins, stimulate the passing.
It's leaving. I'm leaving.
Thin membrane to scrape,
For excess building blocks;
for bleeding emotions;
I could melt and be fine,
Must breathe pine to feel alive.
All efforts circumvent the coming call to death.

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