The End of Faith by seth grube
Feel it abandon its last bastion, shrinking, the panoply splintered-something fleeing, vulnerable, lost in medial grey its trail pure ignition. What deeds amongst the crestfallen will lift the stunted calling from tabetic breasts, and with hope’s scrip concealing the bright carol, who will pardon the wizened courier slipping with the dispatch into booming madness.
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