Foolish things hurt you,
serious things amuse you?
You are like the pleasant smell of old books,
strangely sweet, strangely familiar, yet unknown.
This unfilled void, the void which had you, it had me, it had us,
but now,
there will be serpents curlerd around every hair of my head,
my eyes might be pierced by red hot iron spikes.
After such sinfulness, what mercy?
Today I feel like my shadow, filled with darkness, yet empty.
What a paradox am I?
.
~leaving notes
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