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, January 30, 2016
we can, easy,, tell
All of it is real<and none of it is true>
Because, am never told<but only see it>
Falling way, way hard<in front of we>
So, guess, should have<taken the three>
Teenage wasteland<on the three, repeat>
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