I catch these tacet perceptions like preternatural falling stars in my so-reverent mead-colored eyes and it's softer than swan down. Heat blooms in the soft parts and holding back such dissatisfying feelings is like damming Niagara Falls or cultivating faith in myself. Impossible
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Who needs what's regular when you can build golden empires of experience with tongues on teeth and what's green in our lungs? Who are we to bend over backwards and dodge the knowledge of infinity? What's bad is regular now. Your hands are like a burning baptism for my skin and I know I'll regret this in approximately... 36 minutes. We're playing
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Most days, there are no words in this language to express how I feel about things. Today, however, the fog rises and I can, in fact, make my peace
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Is it a lie? It's an exoskeleton. Accept yourself and make up your mind to be an adult. It's none of my business, but I do care about you and your well-being. We share some pretty intense seconds and minutes sometimes, and other people could know, but first things first: the largest part of who you are deserves to know every faction of your love.
Is it karmic backlash? I'm through being an automaton, I swear it. Just let me have this one thing. I'll never ask for anything again, but it's lonely on this steely isle and the wind is frigid and the air is fucked
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I can hear a mechanic hum for a good six to eight seconds after you've backed out of a comically lengthy driveway and a plea for you to drive like a normal person spills from my subconscious before I can cease these stupid fucking dribblings. Quick! If I keep sitting here, casting a certain teenage aloofness upon this conflagration or tempest of my
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