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All the damaged places in the heart. In each of us a wilderness stained with the imprint of our pain– its many streams are stagnant, toxic orange, and when the sunset bleeds a family of wolves are leashed, taken to a toxic circus, and forced to perform a howling, sad ritual dance that reeks of their captivity. Are we a complicit audience? Is our blood toxic? It is only when questions are spread on the morning wind that the heart pulses and beats, our all too human nature is cleansed. |
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