June 11, 2011
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It is like a small compound of the small sorrowful spirits,
In which lurk and wander its soul,
Deep dark crevices are in the hallow corradors of its being,
Within the crevices lye secrets and denials,
Between each secret lyes a sense of the unknown,
The unknown lost and wanting home boundednes,
Beneath that is something more,
More than humanity knows,
More than the Crevices and unknown know,
But something thats notoriously,
Seeking someone in which knows.

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