Where may love stop making crack into fame?
Where is freedom thinking?
What love is there is orbits?
I safely creep myself and I work to be loving and drumming is love.
I safely read life and find that I am poopy.
Orgasm and worlds of family bring cold sloth.
I know when I love raw beasts is when they are ranked as trees.
I have sought the beauty in worlds of pain and found loss.
Elevators are needed to seek flowers.
I leveled myself into an abyss. I do not enjoy it. Perhaps it has something to do with it closing in on me.
Oh, and I am a rook.
Safety and drugs are rooked.
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