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there's a little angel that hums a tune in my ears when it's quiet. sometimes they visit me in my sleep, sometimes I'm left to the ferocities that seep into my mind like water through the grains of fresh wood. the mind is like a giant tree that sucks the life of the world out from it's roots and uses it to survive. angels are what bring us from wood to fire - set ablaze with a purpose - and i am warm. i burn hot, and it is with a purpose.