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, February 4, 2017
it's like a song that doesn't climax, or some shit
Fake own death to get outta teaching children,
someday sleep, someday,
your brother is pregnant
and calling it Olive, because he loves olives,
And, "learn how to drive, prick!"
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