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Mistress, Claythings and the I of Immortality.

Watch her now
as she crafts you,
witness the wonderment

as she shows
you how pliable
you are.

Clay, just soft clay.
One need only know
how to hold,
one must only mold.

Care to give it a try?

Open up
your hands,

fingers spread,
palms stretched high:
now come play
with me,

dissolve and reform
yourself.

So hauntingly seductive
as she leads
you through your own dark,
labyrinthine insides.

Honesty, sincerity,
no secrets,

she is so comfortable,
makes you feel so high,
shows you how you are
so much more
than your disobedient mind.

You are the sleeping master,
face drool-plastered
to the wheel of his vessel,
your own sleeping master,
just as she is your mistress,
your mind is her plaything,
your ego her puppet

as you watch,
high
and wide awake,
blissful, one

with yourself,
your own
immortal
in the distance.

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