The overwhelming rush of sensation has been miscarried. Rushing out of me as quickly as it flew through me. Happy about this discovery; still watching for a tidal wave of energy to penetrate my skin. Feeling drought and discomfort; I am parched. You sold my couriosity to the wind where I became dust. The maddness I crave is no longer lingering on the tip of my finger. The reality of this has become my sanity; brushed between the idea of it all.
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