Qualis speluncâ subitó commota Columba,
Cui domus, et dulces latebroso in pumice nidi,
Fertur in arva volans, plausumque exterrita pennis Dat tecto ingentem—mox aere lapsa quieto,
Radit iter liquidum, celeres neque commovet alas.
Marked inside
It isn’t there
I paint to trust
Let off in sear, asylum
So long now
I unplugged
Both sides
Key to cross
The inside to bottom
To asylum
Sore it caused a feeling
Making me astringent
Taken in a slit
Soon it won’t be even
Even make astringent
It don’t mean to cease
It said to me, It said
Much I hate to admit
The stitches don’t hold the slit, no
And crossing that hurdle
Mean nothing to me
And I misread you