In the dark, I seem to stretch. Without a body to witness, I grow and grow with my pleasure. I feel like a constellation, a concept hung on a scattering of stars.
Sex, Feelings
The summer kings are gods, and we are finally, in the end, just men.
Death, Men
Gods are what people worship. Men are what die.
The past stands in the path of the future, knowing it will be crushed.
Future, Past
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