[To:]
The Crackling Static of my dynamic thoughts.
Do not cut them free,
For without grace or consideration
Lacking mercy
They would needlessly trample and rampage
[Throwing:]
Delicate crystal semblances of carefully turned phrases,
Cautiously constructed frames scaffolding my stoic composure
[Into:]
A sandstorm of a rumbling stampede
Undermining the very tenuous ground underneath our feet.
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