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Taste me. Then erase me. It escapes me how it bound me with smiles that lie then unwound me. How does it expect me not to protect me if disconnecting me without any empathy. This is the reality of neutrality... But crystaline ice this clarity with which my eyes now do see! Blessed is this end. Blessed... is this begining.

 

Who? © 2002

 

 
Psychick Poems
* New
Earth Self
Clouds
Dance the Dance of Life
The Art of Being
Soul Work
 
 
 
     
  
  
     
  
Copyright © 2001 Psychick. All rights reserved.
  
     
  
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