

GuillotineThe salts from my eyes are to me as oil. They lock my way into padded institution. They are exhaling CO2, a character to foil; A vital solvent in this persona-solution.Guillotine
If you stop my breathing and let the world take a look, I've a wanted head and nothing in the space between. Help me now, my ivory-winged rook, Before they execute your queen.
Give me asphyxiation and I may as well die, For stealing something that vital is a sin. To willingly cease is a shadow-black lie, A wrongdoing to meditation within.
If you stop my brea
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そうですか。
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