my eyelids are falling and pictures of guns are in my head i see lips and more lips. opened and closed, triggering rebirth and stabbing genital sentances. painted chords and knuckle braclets weave under arteries, fully euipped spreads fill 3 prong hooked salamander gongs and daddy long leg slippers. the hatchet creates a door in my foreskin where
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And then I raised my hand and said, "I HATE THAT STYLE OF WRITING."
But I like the boy who writes like that.
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