

HysterectomyWhat gives shape to the destiny of our logic? What writes the name of anger on the brows of our young Who feeds our devilish desires... Scrawled upon the skin of memory, we remember only scars and the scorn which we wear for laughterHysterectomy
Like the angels of our fine-tuned history We have built walls around the
crux of our collectivity, and scaled them
only to find altars of forgetting... how many tragedies have we all shared in like the most fecund flower we dream beauty yet, why do we flourish only in the chill
of winter?
Once wh
Now get back here and submit something.
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Art of my friend: Gary Roberts comics
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