I'll milk the Fleeting to get its sons and daughters.
The mirror will know this is not sterile.
Rest yourself, tame your heart, break mine.
I wish. You wish. No more.
My life is better in silence.
My heart ought to drown.
You'll see. It'll make you proud.
One piece at a time, in that red tunnel,
I'll take me apart.
I'll squeeze the left of the Fleeting until the ants come.
There will be nothing left when I'm done.
But they'll search my guts anyway.
And still, they won't find you.
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