Bleeding from heart guts spilled open a pavement of blood for all to see.. No more a private no more the solemn hung dry a dripping oddity. Once aired and crisp the veins are closed no more the patta of noise but a shifting into anew. Dried out and sterile, the poison has gone only remnants remain from a darker tale. The crumbs of what was.. From this space, having gone through the wormhole, a light gives a glimmer of hope. Its shadow cast on a withered corps a much needed warmth. The tingling starts anew, fresh, abides, much hope still left to skew. A metamorphosis of sorts or a miracle cure.. The lure, the tale is pure..


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