are no crumbs which feeds the heart,
but love the eyes see in us.
We have become blind to our emotions.
I hunger for you, your company.
bread is not what I'm trying
feeds of your voice my ears, and your eyes
my view. No matter
touch,
I'd be happy to be able to look back and see you anyway.
All around there is emptiness, that loneliness makes
gloves
While I try to grab me wriggle
not to listen to her continued to paint inside of me as a work of timeless
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