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
Friday, July 21, 2017
we fall-in for the most twee, shhhh, cause we aren't
write the magic of, for certain stars. stop blinking
side-eyes, and the cracks, couldn't close enough
to make me wonder what it'd be like if you were
here, because you're not here. and the party is over
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