spines like cranes in the scotch mists
my arm red in lines like tracks
you push and turn like gross maggots in unison
my knees are wet, my hands are crooked, but I still love you
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I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
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