[ m ∀ r t 1 n a m ⋮ ñ ∅ p ≠ r ∃ ℤ )
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c o l l a g e
t e x t o
M e m o r y P o p s i c l e s
c o n t a c t
Under My Skin But Out Of My Hands.
She Hasn’t Woken Up Yet
Ghost of a Feeling.
Born like bubbles. The monster of the deep is made of mirrors. Breathes like a man, with soul so dead.
Landscape in Red
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