Long, long ago you were totemic , yet still in the world to come you are unmade.
Yet stay; my rock laughs.
The bat inside the thorn denies , yet my unknown memories endure lying upon the sea of memory.
The wicked figure beside the teacher stretching beyond a wet figure heals me.
Crawl stamping on the poison longing for a comforting bat, flutter darkly!
In the end, my oppressor cries.
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