Timothée Bârrus/ Burning Tent


it’s the light that pulls you into the shadows of crevasse but no/ it’s the secrets that push you down the old dirt road/ no, no, no/ it’s not the crumbling that you’re crawling over even as you fall in dangerous mansions/ it’s not the evil fingers of the trees/ it’s not that the enemy has surrounded us with so much doom/ it’s not the men in masks/ it’s that the tent itself is burning from our shells of inside out/

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