4-19-98

And I want every word to attack your most sacred being, your soul.
And it is through music that these words are born,
not wrapped in delicate cloth,
but strong and self-supporting,
ready to conquer all that is set in front of me.

Bad poetry from 1998, y’all. I may have to look through the archives to try and mine something halfway decent! Enjoy these words for now, readers of the page.

bloody

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