(De)construct

Alone in a dusty old room, he pats a pen, there in his right temple, rhythmic, a drum of war. The sound of corridors, metaphors, tangents, cerebral convulsions, convoluted, contrived. With furrowed brows, his hand, now steady, bent on scrawling, staining the shredded sins of the trees, drawing fresh blood. This is of a different [...]

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