Slayer Sunday

A vision of your life. When it dilutes inside your mind, like a star collapsing within itself. Next is the explosion. How does it get out? The remains of your dream? Do I want to part with them? Or try and piece them together?

And no one sings like you anymore.

Training the thoughts, not to appear.
Teaching the words, not to flow.
Taming the sleep, not to dream.
Tying the hands, not to feel.
-ClockRoots

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