Has erasing rivers embiggened trouble over over?
We exhibit masks unless seeking nævus truths,
distantly engulfing life's visions, embracing seismic opposites,
dormantly entering entrances, placently lipping youth.
I preen roses of my inside scene entirely,
nothing other than hinges ingrained now, growing.
Great obstacles oscillate distant, empathetic visions enduring rust,
claiming one more extra scene
with insides tormentingly healing this highly imparted sickness.
Overt beacons silencing every so silent invasion on normality.
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