Wet corners. Flesh wagered in parables and tickets to zen. The edge. A unity of oblivion. A crusade of conditions. Ripe with conspiracies of when.
Common thieves. The fulcrum of madnesss. Shifting the balance. Weighted. Voices like gauze caked with the sickness.
The moment folds. An ambivalent monarch in a kingdom already spent. The scene happens. Though its audience is bankrupt. A dialogue of pauses. In a war of momentum.
Soft edges. The critical paradox. Condensates of time. The echo of distance in the vacuum of lost.
The constant. Shivers in the map. Choices like a contagion. Infecting everything.
Sleep in nickels and pennies. Progress swallows.
The protagonist continues to pretend. The story is enough.
Common thieves. The fulcrum of madnesss. Shifting the balance. Weighted. Voices like gauze caked with the sickness.
The moment folds. An ambivalent monarch in a kingdom already spent. The scene happens. Though its audience is bankrupt. A dialogue of pauses. In a war of momentum.
Soft edges. The critical paradox. Condensates of time. The echo of distance in the vacuum of lost.
The constant. Shivers in the map. Choices like a contagion. Infecting everything.
Sleep in nickels and pennies. Progress swallows.
The protagonist continues to pretend. The story is enough.
interesting poem
thx
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