a project of skill-less and dead-author labor turned dead-text turned dead-reader, love
affair with space, some cloud to influx information without regard for human eyes. &poetry
Saturday, November 20, 2021
a lie is a wish the heart makes
you could just let me count. tell me those things. we will never speak.
(and i don't want to be source pain. and we don't want to feel it either)
in 3 years slowly disappears into something recognizable+missed-but-gone.
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