Swear to God the Father, holy ghost’s shape on the water, the Madonna
Skin sagging, hanging in bags, more elastic than a pregnancy tracky
Addicting to fasting since I found out about Bobby Sands, alas my sands
Are running out, I’m like Sansa in King’s Landing with no way out
Either The Hound, the dwarf hand, or the hand with the little fingers.
Alchemisland 
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