One, two, three...
An alley where immortality dwells, hidden among the scent of life.
Small hand-held dolls lined up on the shelf.
Magic embedded in the body.
A trick to make the gods obey and to control the gods.
Sealed dynamis.
Logic that constantly blooms into madness.
A motley crowd anagram.
Ignorance stamped on the marriage seal.
A living doll dancing in an opened chest.
Devour... binding the limbs together...
Ripping open the intestines... forever gasping...
"Exist as the flower of immortality"
Un, deux, trois...
One, two, three...
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The words we weave are lead.
They sink heavy, like a moody recluse.
Cannot be seen, cannot be read, cannot be understood.
Hating the darkness and shunning it, yet drawn into it-gothic.
Betrayed, starved for love, a friendship holic blooms.
A spreading trap, an anagram.
A cellar of deceitful magic.
The deranged doll sways within an opened chest.
Embrace... unbinding the corpses...
Ripping open the intestines... hearing screams...
"Exist as the flower of immortality"
Un, deux, trois...
If one were to part from this sad world
Indifference to darkness is the pity of things.
I do not know the lord of similitudes either.
Dreams and even wings endlessly scatter like blossoms.