My Everyday Nights; Nocturnal Comments

Buried between the concrete and the pillows that my head rests.
Pitch black volumes that i i see trying to figure out figures, straining so much and ever but worn out too easily.
Never being entertained by anything else in the hours of witches and wizards that's filling up cauldrons with tooth's and nails and of those scrapped skins.
Breaking a sweat and breaking a habit never that easy to comply; irony spills onto the floor of papers, inked with promises and mesmerizing phrases.
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