Suddenly, she heard a loud bang, a thump and a scream that caused her to jump from the bed. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight up and her body became one big goosebump.
The man slips along the stoically congealed houses Perpendicular like them A moving ornament Burning fiction His fragility contradicts the duration of his torments
The Cubist Poets in Paris: An Anthology
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The man slips along the stoically congealed houses Perpendicular like them A moving ornament Burning fiction His fragility contradicts the duration of his torments
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Listen,listen with your eyes,and your lips.Listen with your skin, and your blood.Can you hear us,at the edges?
We're not in a fairytale story. This is not a movie. Scriptwriters don't write our fates. We do.