all of our memories collide at night.
at the bash we begin to crash.
fun, not famine, our desolate masks -
why should we pretend that all is all right?
as ages age, we turn the pages -
as our insides die, our still blinded eyes
give a wink to the creatures outside,
and a manmade world continues its rage.
its getting stale.
please
give us good thoughts and
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