1	Uncreation’s whirring loom you ply with crippled fingers
0	To weave the tapestry of nought
0	The blossoms of your tomorrow shall unfold in my heart
0	Lest I should perish with travel, effete and weary, as my knees refuse to bear me thither
0	The barren earth oozes blood, and shakes and moans, to drink her children’s gore

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hyperzine

Ontology of Nought