Poiuygz
@poiudn
Beneath the frost-bitten knuckles of ridges hum avalanches, ribs trembling in sleep. They whisper psalms jagged as knives, and I crouch, mouth bruised blue with silence, aching to drink the hymn nailed into snow before it slits the sky wide.
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PeteKemmer917
@petekemmer917
Why is this making me want to journal under a tree?
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