Puerile Points

I feel a flaming anvil in the pit of my stomach, pinning down all hope of Relief.
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My heart grows and hardens each day like oyster shells in the embrace of the ocean.
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We hold the thread of our dreams. It is spun in the spindle of our minds.
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Wishes can only take you as far as the outskirts of your nail beds.
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There are people worth befriending, or so, until the 'crunch' says so.