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  • fromwitchpen 19h

    #vil_witch Phew, My third villanelle after a long time.
    Thanks for supporting :) I'm sorry for not responding to your tags . Take care .
    #start
    --------

    Her eyes looks like unheard
    stories, the clouds go berserk
    while searching for the heaven
    betwixt her orbs. Fire and
    brimstones, what her laugh
    shredded upon the vague
    veranda of vamoosed verses.
    They attired the guffaws of
    perdition with streetlights and
    counterfeit similes. I've lived
    betwixt her poetries she never
    coiled the pandemonium of
    turnpike troubadours in
    lecherous ignis fatuus which
    gurgle out phantasm on the
    grief-stricken walls manipulating
    the doldrums kept inside a jar
    of clemency. I flapped my wings

    Befogged,

    She an ample-apple of
    fuliginous stardust
    nurturing my eensy soul with
    fierce-flowers and compassion
    evoking an euphoric bedlam
    beside my lungs

    They,
    smoked
    evils, deaths, knives,
    blood, huckery hymns and
    my unfeighned condolences
    to her unwavering
    beauty

    I grilled her heart
    on wilted orchids they
    coughed out blood
    and turned to fragrant
    roses

    She cursed my
    existence I stabbed
    her words
    she blamed my facade
    I chopped off
    her name
    She taunted our telepathy
    but then
    her pain subsided and I
    saw her crying while
    writing a villanelle

    I snatched away her
    coal orbs. But blindly
    she guided the rhymes
    and I tip-toed to keek
    that tear she sobbed
    before taking the last
    breathe

    ~ I'm that lonely word she forget to wrote in that villanelle before she cwtched quietude.

    Read More

    'The rain is falling and I'm traumatized
    God asked the address of my sorrows
    I assured a bard I'm wholly cicatrized
    -
    I feel flamboyant to 've death visualized
    They seek for redemption in my brows
    The rain is falling and I'm traumatized
    -
    I was a day, gloomy dim and materialized
    With auburn parables, silver-tongue of crows
    I assured a bard I'm wholly cicatrized
    -
    T'was condemn thyself after I demised
    I throttled you betwixt my deep furrows
    The rain is falling and I'm traumatized
    -
    Hills, Euphrates and bridges fossilized
    oh, the Gold, cold your upcoming tomorrows
    I assured a bard I'm wholly cicatrized
    -
    I spurned my words as they are, immortalized
    seeking a sooty swan in the present boroughs
    The rain is falling and I'm traumatized
    I assured a bard I'm wholly cicatrized'
    _ she, the poetry.
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 2d

    /(Bard)iche virtuoso/
    I was a poet: trahison des clercs

    I never counted stars
    as they burn the house of
    dusk manipulating the
    daydreams to fell in
    love with ephialtes
    I'm a drunkard
    cursing the flashbacks
    and photographs of
    augur. I'm depicting
    the future with threads
    of past time
    I'm a bardic barque
    whose debris are being
    stepped by mariners
    as flotsam
    unable to fathom; a prolix
    to rejig the spaces and
    bardiches into poems
    which are hard to gulp
    and not-that-easy to
    cognize the roads
    I build with
    black and white images
    They left
    They left one by one
    two to four
    and in thirty days
    where I tasted
    the three sixty fifth
    rotten flesh of
    forevers

    Nobody stayed
    the home to my soul
    the love of my life
    the salted-buttery elflocks of my grandma
    the last wish I made while celebrating my 11th birthday
    the guy who keeked through the orifice of fornication
    the bullets of prophecies
    the matinee to masquerade happiness

    howbeit,
    I was a poet

    Until

    who is a poet ?

    one day my heart asked
    I was discombobulated
    I read books,
    watched movies
    I kept being inquisitive
    But steadily
    instead of getting
    an answer

    I started a war
    betwixt my heart
    and mind,

    A virtuoso bard , bardiche and
    bandit named life
    snuff the cigars of chivalry
    and puff out the
    intumescent verses of
    ruination

    I'm partaking in
    sighs, cries, thwacks, flames,
    relics and coal-camphor
    of the pits of villainy

    _ I'm not guilty of the trahison des clercs I caged, by trading my poetic pale-flower. I'm a cobblestone of perfidy.

    ___________________

    @writersnetwork grateful for your kind acknowledgement :')

    Thanks, everyone!

    Read More

    My poems are home to my tears and cradle to fears, I feel warm betwixt my dark verses.
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 4d

    @writersnetwork thanks team for the support and encouragement you always showered on me *-*

    Thank you everyone! Pardon me for not reading you all from past a month I guess, life turned hectic and I feel suffocated here but I can't leave this place . I'm trying my best to read like I used to before. I sucks due to constant headaches and emotional breakdowns. I'm trying to cope up with this all to be strong to fight and to again respire spells of love on you all. Hope you all understand my situation :-) thank you so much for being here . It somewhere breaks my heart that many left and very few are here those whom I know. And the beautiful new users here, my name is Sanam no need to call me Ma'am. I'm a learner like you all I'm not someone who is an actual writer. Please be normal. Formalities scares me , much love <3

    Read More

    Unknown: schmaltzy satire or a hetaera of r(l)usty love

    Last time I ate
    my lies a whirl of quarrel
    carried away my verses
    and only giggles of
    treachery kept mimicking
    the unwanted twilight

    I'll leave again
    the chauvinistic approach
    towards the gaslight which
    speaks of love when the
    fireflies massacre themselves
    in its fibster flame

    I'm tired of being called
    names that my own self is
    snoring in that void my heart
    decomposes every second
    I've tried so much
    I've denied myself
    I've deplored darkness
    I've lived a thousand deaths
    I've been eaten by myths
    I've grown an aubergine of chivalry
    I'm done I'm done with this life
    This all feels like an incomplete poem
    A puzzle or a clue

    Nevertheless,

    In this span of time
    concomitantly a star kept shining
    looking at me with woebegone orbs
    It somewhere capture the
    wisteria of souls
    I remember the weight
    my shoulders are bearing
    I'm embarrassed
    Feels like a burden on my body
    has ripened into a nihilistic night
    Jasmine

    I'm a failure
    from my first cry which
    didn't even got a clean rhythm
    to this day that I'm not
    even able to conquer anything

    I'm an insomniac
    A person very easy to be trapped by depression
    A selcouth of fallacies
    Never understood the ways of love
    hated the proximity of timeless reveries
    and the worse thing is
    I'm not able to write a true poem
    and such blindness I suspire
    that I'm called a poet

    _ I laugh hysterically when my own words opine with my sentiments.
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 2w

    Blah. Idk what this nasha is . Something new I tried .
    #end

    As I have seen many of you didn't got the actual point in this post pardon my negligence let me elaborate it

    The first verse is about wine how it touches the throat what we feel even the colada feels a piece of trash in front of it till we puke it out in dustbins and it burn into areas surrounded with blood death and hearses . (The taste of wine is like the wet sand after rain)

    Second verse states that: I have talked about few girls as periwinkles its like wine sex and love or pain. So yeah, they walked in a ballroom trying to look as elegant as this is what erupts their synchondrosis joint. Like a categorized clichè girl. Fueling their dresses with bra cups, underarms and hips all ready and cleaned up and at that time the pimples when start pirouetting on their skin many stares which are eerie make them loose the last gum of their mouth as they bump with any man and he use her on his dashboard cupboard and then she again bloom in mudpots but the end is always pain and pain. (It means the suburbs and (bra) cups are carved with foolish people's gaze)

    Last verse is about the themeparks the childhood we have lived and with time we killed it with our own desires its all cold now unfathomable and bizarre life filled with bewildered gossamers and confusions . (I gulped in love to feel the pain)
    Hope this helps :)

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    I cut your thighs in moribund sighs

    Wine :-
    It obliterate the heartbreaks
    artbreaks breaks. Chainsmokers
    or something sourly cold gave
    shivers shivers shivers to the
    throat's skin. Oh, Akin to the
    last love , last night or last home;
    cursing the eternity, mortality or
    illi-city. Dumping a colada in the
    near vessels or utensils . Toss
    one's cookies in the dustbin
    bin-burner. Zilch the environs
    faubourg or purlieu of heart-hearse
    blood-boneyard, deceptive-death
    /The wine tastes like cake of slush after rain/

    Cups:-
    Periwinkles in mudpots cupboards
    dashboards decomposing the
    hiraeth
    hiraeth hiraeth in iced-isle
    soigné-synchondrosis in egyptian
    ballrooms fueling the bra-cups
    underarms and hindquarters with
    banal pigeonholed pirouetting
    pimples and thousands of leer
    eerie or queer the end gums
    just bumps sticks of drums
    /Cups or suburbs carved with rubbernecks/

    Ice or fire:-
    By the to the if the of the in the
    flames of parque de atracciones
    of my childhood chomping the
    gallimaufry to get the hold of
    those torn lurking-labyrinths
    the maze oh blaze what a phase
    I've lived so blue so dazed and
    so cold so cold so cold so cold
    /I gulped in fire to feel the iced pain/
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 2w

    ᴛᴡᴀꜱ' ᴀ ꜱᴜɴꜱᴇᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜʏ ᴍɪɴᴅꜱᴇᴛ

    Daubed lip-rouge, one of her
    mother's red shawl she wore
    as a sari rigidifying her blouse
    to get a deep neck as the line
    which appears betwixt her
    mother's breast always made
    her curious being unknown of
    her surroundings she put her
    lips under her teeth orbs up
    to give a winsome look

    Her childishness
    captured the eyes of
    her dadi descrying
    this all she checked
    the time sun was
    starting to set she
    stormed inside her
    room tore her dreams
    and said
    "You are her daughter, that
    woman's how could
    I think you will be
    different from her
    she was a prostitute
    and so are you,
    This sunset is such a
    bizzare old man who
    once stripped off her
    truth as she danced and
    abutted death at this time
    so are you trying to be her
    at this tick of clock,
    This sunset is a malison"

    /And the sunset under the kef of myths
    mourning on human's mindsets/

    #myth

    Is it just me or everyone's miraquill is not workin' ?

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    The sun set behind the backyard of my mind, morphing my soul into treacherous twilight.
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 2w

    Green: One word to 24% matching text. Yellow: 25-49% matching text. Orange: 50-74% matching text. Red: 75-100% matching text
    Blue: No plagiarism.
    ~ according to Turnitin (an Internet-based plagiarism detection service)

    /What is plagiarism in your eyes ? Is it that your few words can be found beautifying someone else poem ?
    Plagiarism isn't about words , concept or
    corresponding to nature.

    ~If the words you use like let me give my example a word 'cwtch' many of us write. But I know hundreds of users here got to know about this word from me. And what about me? I also got to know about this word from a vocab page at Instagram. So can I say that these people who started using this word in their write ups that I own this word and you are copying me? No, I can not cause I'm not the one who actually invented this word.

    ~If your concept is somehow same after reading someone later then he is a plagiarizer but if you read the same concept written before you wrote then you aren't a plagiarizer. Is it so? Concepts can be same but the way of expression can vary. This is not plagiarism.

    ~sky is beautiful. You can read this line almost everywhere. This is a natural thing which no one can pilagirize.
    _

    Yes, if your exact words are being used by someone without giving you credits. This is called plagiarism.
    As the miraquilleans rather than posting this or warning people contact with Carolyn Ma'am or send a mail to miraquill with proofs. They will surely look into this matter.
    I'm saying this all cause I have done a very big mistake by myself here a few months ago by disturbing the peace of miraquill and posting posts about plagiarism. But, I learned after such experience "to not to show anger be peaceful"
    Notify the admins/

    PS- People plagiarize the best ones be proud of yourself and they plagiarized you, you didn't so let them take stress, be happy!

    #color

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    ( I̶n̶s̶p̶i̶r̶e̶d̶ Plagiarized)

    A few words of Shakespeare
    tranquilizing them with a haiku
    of Matsuo Basho,

    Taking a bit of green-lines
    from an anonymous writer
    playing hide and seek with other's
    eyes by showing them as
    mine,
    |
    Pressing a yellow-paragraph
    of a lovelorn prose inside
    one's poem making the metaphors
    scream on such cruelty plucked
    from not-so-famous book,
    |
    Combining a few orange-pages
    and complimenting them with
    a speaker's words (Ted talks)
    clasping a copyright beneath
    I have tasted shoreline
    of plagiarism,
    |
    Not even bothering to
    veil up the whole write up
    just changing the title
    such lethargy and red-nuts
    are very easy to find

    I want to take a blue paint
    coloring the seas and graves with
    purity and to create an
    authenti(city).
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 2w

    October's Pleiades

    Ole and cantaloupe thy
    Orbs suspire horizon
    Omnipresent aura
    Obfuscating lanterns
    Ogling at planetoid
    Oh, the calendar is
    Obscuring September

    Creating poems on
    Canvasses rhyming'rhymes
    Clasping the hand-houses
    Concocting candlewood
    Combusting blossoms of
    Camaraderie on
    Chalets of pandemic

    Tussling ramp-walk of the
    Twilight coruscating
    Time under lampshade of
    Thunder-travelers it
    Tincture tranquil bliss on
    Throttling despondency
    Twas' October Pleiade

    Of verse and palabras
    Orbiting the seven
    Omens of syllabic
    Order propounding an
    Organized set of words
    Oscilloscope to limn
    Off-urned tipsy morrows

    Brewing few shards of the
    Baked hurricanes in its
    Bones burning the spaces
    Bewildered by ones yore
    Being poet whether
    Brooks, Blake or the Browning
    Beautifying the books

    Everything envelopes
    Euphoria (of) new month
    Episodic an epoch
    Erupting days of the
    Ebbs and combers collapsed
    Evocative tombstones
    Effacing November

    Reverse the train to past
    Reminisce the rainbows
    Rambling portraiture of
    Renowned dawn and fallen
    Raindrops evanescence
    Reverberating the
    Rose-dom of thy glee

    #tanka #pleiadespoem

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    October gestured
    a poem to dance on the
    lap of sombre sun
    saying a toodle-oo to
    ballerina of spring star
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 3w

    Quill: A Traveler

    Twice, thrice and toto-frice?
    I consolidated visionaries and
    pander to picturesque paper planes
    my no-muse-phantasm perspired
    a subfusc syllabic synchronization
    of thoughts and vexatious turmoil
    trespassing the point of my lifeless
    nefarious-nib,

    Using a bleaching-burner I shan't
    efface eulogia which I traveled by
    my wings, so-called libraries and
    when I relish that tangy sourdough
    of inked-journals I morph into so
    autumnal-auburn-ashes

    I have travelled on paper-palimpsests
    trailing towards the manuscripts
    meandering on streams of solitude
    selecting a succored-sauntering
    synecdoche and bled bonfires to those
    dark and doused palabras

    A safari to hunt the seraph of poetries
    or a globetrotting to gleam glossaries
    I've smouldered suffixes and massacred
    mutilated poetries.

    #travel
    Blah . Just a try .

    (As I saw in the comments not many people got the actual point of this poem let me give you all a summary about this,
    This is a poem about a quill which sum up the visionaries to indulge and carve Paper planes through fantasy and trespass through the turmoil of its bewildering sync of thoughts and life which are odious to its nib it will die inside a bleaching-burner will keep writing itself eulogies will travel the hidden libraries and will taste that sour journal of those ole journals it will change into autumn then will be auburn ashes. It will travel on palimpsests, manuscripts, solitude, will succour the selected synecdoche by sauntering on them and will bleed fire to dead words. Whether to hunt the poetries or to travel through the world of glossaries it'll burn the suffixes and maimed poems.
    Hope this help you all)

    @writersnetwork thank you so much , team ♡
    Much love to everyone <3

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    I roam around the streets of poems to pause at the inevitable full-stop, and when the poets yawp out phrases I voyage, to be a barque of metaphors.
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 3w

    Heyya Miraquilleans,
    Thank you admins for some changes we are grateful and dear fellow writers you are allowed to write, talk, take tips, interact, leave messages and speak your heart out in this comment section.
    |You #once told me about a realm
    called miraquill I etched my poetries
    on chest of its walls and windows
    met new friends those evenings filled
    with laughter's no jealousy no hooliganism
    being happy for each other
    reading everyone not just few friends
    or closed ones appreciating each other
    and creating a world of stories,
    poetries, thoughts and we spoke for
    chap-lip people unfold harsh realities
    pointed a junction betwixt sorrow and
    glee shoulder to shoulder pen to pen
    we talked from January to December|
    @/fromwitchpen #ptpt -1
    (Nothing more I'll say as these lovely fellow writers have said your heart out already. This comment section is all yours #mydearmiraquilleans -3) if you all will like this will take such initiatives every month.
    _________________________________
    1. I urge people to be honest with the particular writer they read, when it comes to their writing. They can read it genuinely but “just because you liked my post i will too without reading it”,should be stopped.
    2. Metaphors are not always a need. I urge if people could recognise themselves and the purpose behind the lines they write with their “own” imagery and “own” experience.,/3. I urge if people to know, no matter how hard you try to coat yourself with other writers word, you would never shine. Being honest with yourself, is the only thing which brings out how TRUE you are.
    ~for the readers/writers
    I feel they are giving according to themselves.I have no issues with what mirakee is doing.New people are getting discovered and rest everyone writes good. I don’t know about it more.Yeah, I feel many times they give pods to not that much deserving posts but we are have different perspectives so maybe that thing looks amazing to them ~for miraquill.
    @/squared

    No matter what I choose for myself. Good or bad. I would never choose literature for my further study alone without any support thankfully,
    I got it and for that, I'm forever grateful to (mirakee) and the one who thought of creating this incredible platform. I was sent to science high school without my will in +2 it was nothing more than torture ! skipped lessons, missed lectures, bunking class, decreasing grades, I thought I would never be a decent student again. But, last year, my family willingly agreed, and I was admitted to literature college for my bachelor's after accidentally reading one of the poems that I wrote for the mirakee challenge. And now, after directly jumping from revising same theories thousands times to writing my own thesis. I feel good about studying, I feel good when I have assignments to do, I feel good about being a decent student. I'm satisfied with what I'm learning. All credits go to mirakee for giving my words a place to dwelt. Sometimes I wished I could disappear, but it is worth a stay. Nowadays, I see it's changing, but then they say change is constant. I hope the change is for good.
    @/fairytales_

    1. Don't write for a POD or Writersnetwork re-post, write for what your heart wants to. A simple appreciation by a random person, is more than a POD. From my personal experience, I have also been always interested in getting reposts stuff, but a genuine appreciation is much more than that. Trust me./ 2. 100 or 10 likes, doesn't matter, until your are loving your write-up. Yes, I know it sucks when you loved something by heart and you didn't get enough of appreciation or likes but you know for a human being it's never enough. /3. Last and most important I must say, You are not being forced to write. You are not being forced to attempt the daily challenge. If I am going to your post and putting up a comment in your comment section "write soon" or someone is doing so, that is called suggesting, not forcing. If you don't want to write it's your wish. You can answer back the person saying it not possible for me to write or whatever the reason is. Avoid doing it for sake of.
    @/aditi

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    A Pen To Pen Talk.

    First of all I'm missing some great writers whose write-ups were always inspiring me but because of some reason, they deactivated and some are not writing here. And the place is now with so many new young people, some are just here for timepass, some are here because they want to get attention, some are here to make friends and a very few writers are here to write and a very very few who are genuine readers here. And people are not reading these days, it's disappointing.
    And coming to the reach, yeah, it's disap pointing too. And if I'll say it doesn't affect a writer, then I'm telling you a lie. It always affect a writer as we all are in a writing platform. So people should start reading and read them not to get likes or reposts but to get inspiration from them. Some writers have best vocabularies, some write about darkness or nature or social issues or whatever. Inspire but don't plagiarize.
    And seeing some negative comments, it's heartbreaking. Respect the thought of the writer. If you don't like someone's post, then it's not necessary that you should argue with him/her. You can just let it go(in my point of view).
    And for me, as I'm a old user(not so old xd) I'm missing many people here. But getting love is constant. I'm getting support from these new writers, and that's enough for me. But still I wish that people should read more and more. Don't bother about the reposts of miraquill and WN team. We're here to read you, just tag some genuine readers to get the comments and corrections, And to wish that those old writers to write more to Inspire the young generation.
    @/love_whispererr
    READ WRITE | INSPIRE I LOVE

    I feel peaceful on miraquill and a lot of negativity has been removed, I feel homely and warm here. A lot of my friends are on breaks or have left but still I am sustaining myself here because I write for myself and writing is necessary to keep my mind sane. I write according to my convenience and try to read and support others as well subjected to the free and limited time that I get apart from my studies.
    @/laus_deo

    For me miraquil was, is and always will be a wonderful opportunity to develop and even accelerate myself, no matter what stage of the journey I'm at. I'm sure like every other app it hits the downward spiral curve at times. But can never deny the truth that it helped me fostering and nurturing my creativity and always will be beyond grateful for that without any complain.
    @/lovethatneverfades , @/kin_jo

    For miraquill.. I would just say Mirakee/quill is same as before nothing's changed if we ignore few silly updates but more like that we are being very stagnant you know loosing the spark of writing. things are being repetitive only a certain way of writing gets repost, we have made comfort groups of our people, its like you're my friend i will read u and you make sure to read me back. It sounds simple but i guess its main problem. The entire purpose of being here and to actually improve our writing skills is actually fading under the constant pressure of being in good books of few people More than just taking it as a part of relaxing ourselves, we are stressing more about how to be in limelight here always n forever. Just my opinion coz even i did that :)
    @/puranidiary

    Every transition is difficult Whether it is from Childhood to Adulthood; School to College; Playing outdoors to staying indoors Innocence to Pragmatism And likewise, Kee to Quill,
    But change is the only constant, according to popular belief. And there hasn't been a drastic change, just a few ones. It does not mean that writing has to stop. And I love this new phase of Miraquill. If you are a genuine writer who loves to express his/her/their views and not care about materialistic things such as likes and reposts then this place surely is a Heaven. And yes, if you think of this as Hell then nothing here will suffice your needs and you won't be happy here.
    @/the_speccy_outsider

    1. This EC, reposts, and POD are just a moment of joy that will last for hardly 2 hours. Don't disappoint yourself if you don't get praise from WN.
    2. It's okay if you don't feel to read anyone. At times we all feel low and it is better if we don't push ourselves to read forcibly. Please try to give genuine feedback or else leave it
    3. We don't own words if you ever feel someone copied your words just think for a while that you don't own words.If someone is copying you word to word, sentence to sentence then at that moment do take action.
    Unnecessary drama is not good :)
    @/inked_selenophile @/mooniememer

    Our home wasn't like this when I joined this by year in February. I was a stranger who just somehow luckily got in the heaven. Even I didn't know how to scribble but yeah I read and wrote everyday whatever is screeching me I just poured my heart everytime. Soon, this home accepted me as their family member. When I fell many times in pit of darkness but there were many seraphs who helped me to overcome the darkness inside me and I rose again to walk. That's how it works holding the thorns inside you will only give you pain release in through the magic that you have i.e. writing.If you feel reach is low and number of likes and reposts makes you feel sad then just think of William blake, John Keat, Vincent Van Gogh, Oscar Wilde and many more who got praise when they died. So what would have happened if they have thought of the same as many who're feeling the same. They just poured their heart to solace their souls.We're trying our best to adorn our home with the same positive vibes that we have some time before, please help us in helping our family.
    @/_astitva_

    ©Wordsofmiraquilleans

  • fromwitchpen 3w

    El=(c)lipses: Enso

    Thou reckoned up thy thenar-virgule
    refulgent to the idiosyncrasy of Arcady
    and vignetted the tapestried life with
    meritorious and surreptitious threadbare
    of nonpareil set of thirty-two teeth
    following with one hundred and thousand
    hair follicles

    In upcoming evolutions
    maybe that zenith of being a
    perfectionist will be able to burgeon
    the Cacao blossoms on the crown of
    trees rather than finding home in those
    bole and boughs
    /This kind of perfectionism will be cryptic
    for their existence/

    And those elliptical eclipses causing
    the contour of cosmos can be the
    continuum to old wives' tale and
    will comely thy flaws.

    •The average human head has about 100,000 hairs with a similar number of hair follicles.

    #enso
    (dk why this is reminding me of Eno, blah)

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    In the midst of your smile
    I find your crooked teeth
    more prepossessing than
    your desolated dimples.
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