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Crazy So here I am: my forbidden fruit is ripe and I am begging to be lost, swimming in circles through the sea of my simple blissful enthusiasm--a curse of a trademark--I beg for sharks. I seem to find myself all too quickly and take refuge in the storms, the sea monsters, and reluctantly hoist my gasping body back onto the simple intrigue of the beach--the white sand, like rice--to discover the pacific complication of our beauty. As if sea breezes would never condense to forest mist, we linger in tropics: Capricorn, Cancer. But depression wouldn't be so prevalent in these family ties if it weren't quite the obdurate disease such that penetration is no less than rape. Swimming towards freedom, towards bondage, paradox is a way of life. And the ocean is turning colder-- these must be the English seas, where I rule the waves; and here you are, were, shall be, such a brave knight. Laughter, your chivalry; a kiss, your weapon of choice. And for your not knowing my distress, I was a princess, nonetheless. I will let down my golden hair, that I have washed for your noble rescue with honeysuckle for softness, chamomile for strength, if you promise me a honeymoon back to the beach: the storms, and the sea monsters.
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