The chapter began, As any chapter be. A lava dipped in purple silk, And angels wrapped in diamond thread. The circle pulled me downwards then, For that, I blame the nightingale. The story played, With intricate detail, A liquid floating bubble high, And glass pupils glazed into her head Deep within her tale, she said; 'For that, I thank the nightingale'. The middle scene, And smile bright. A cut between both reality And two swans of silver taking flight. The lake then forced their fatal parting For that, I blame the bird of song. For that, I blame my nightingale. The end announced, With tears bleeding, A black petrol scene of pain proceeding, And sickness is a form of love. In which I take the blame. Silence is abusing me. My heartbreak is amusing me. For that, I kill the music beat, For that, I miss my nightingale. The end unknown, With time so quick and heaving in my chest So sick, I stand with extra carefree strength, And fall wi...
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