Bored amongst the brethren beaten, beneath the bequeathed and benign. Time stands still and the ticking tinge and twirl of transcendence ascends to cadence. Condensed, cold, calm and composed like withering white whirlwinds of scarlet snow outside my window wooded and withdrawn from the vissisitudes of the past, the cast, the senescent and the present.
On an Insomnia train bound south...
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