it is not a new story, but one told through this voice, this time. . . the voice that strives to hear itself in truest form. . . it is an exercise in muscle, a peeling and a prying away, a pushing through and a purpose of being.
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womb with a view
oh, dream catcher let my dreams come through and catch the fires that burn within so that in the morning sun I may reflect upon the ashes and watch the green sprigs grow
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