Monday 11/13/2017 11:24:00 PM

plastic winds blow the velvet rain. in the direction of our lost.

the end came and went. in soft scabs. in hard surrenders. she drew her pictures. in shattered pencils. and melted crayons. pretending to listen. as the empty hours confessed.

seldom saviors. the measure of their conflict still tender. as the hard math overtook us. skin like cannons. in a war of pleasure.

the gentle poisons time confounds. all bent nails and rusted bullets. amongst the callous pantomine of our want.

the brevity of life all muted screams. and molted skins.

she's red. in the natural turmoil of her thoughts. all swaying bridges. and sour mascara. in the naive epiphany of choice. she's black. everything spent. only the blood still sticking. as wounds evolve to scars.

it's over. or at least it should be. gaunt time machines labor to move us. it's now. the thunder of flesh perpetuating our weakness.

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