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Decomposure
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Hour 2
it was hot. half-float, draw it out and cast it aside, but it will always return. we built slow refresh rates and dark yellow and hip boxes around white windows and line of sight painting an epic battle helmet vs. nailmapping foot nudges to a sparse sleeping choir behind unbreakable swine necklaces as my invisible fence ad dash melted snowfort. ladder against the wall or a prayer for the poor instead of an air war throat dusted with flour dir/w
puncture the semidethawed icepack membrane between the twostroke lower case e, i and twelve month handdrawn circles five slip under the sediment stuffed to be short and proudly wear a hanger; i hope my facing foyer mirrors will shatter fully before i wake. nose to the mural/image virus spin tires on identical mobius thirtysix minutes in folded towels or green trucker alarms or competing systems draped over backs of mornings; bullet hole handprints piercing frosted pane even as beads join like lined featureless faces span each shut with a red pen when each poison action spider drags its ashen paw across dry fields laden with land mines and gopher homes glom opposing sides, clamp forward when exponents pick height sickness' marked car from under your arm in a prerink plastic chair reading slogans, awaiting a blink from the aging red or blue candy handbook's monstrous white pupils, anchor anxious arm raised under zero weight of wisp or clearing stacks between absence and blurred black rattle trailing umbrellatipped silence. your name carved in a desk; etched bruisepurple below whitebarred stalactites and conscious laughs that flank a skipped chapter.
we leak on the green legs rung, 更多更详尽歌词 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔镜歌词网 nickel and timed 'til days are hung.
do you dream in webstats? sanding a toothpick thunderhead over fused crayon candles snuffed at both ends when another dark tuesday is salted bottom left with unpeeled onions waiting on crosshatched etm triacontahedron downing milleniumaesthetic clean white squares forcing your foot to twist and slap to the ground baby talk cults. paper eyelash insect darting windows to spout (a hand cupping sand to the edge of a table) over smaller snowhills, notched untouched paper. twotwofour and there's only mist around the plant and red seven segments to be divided and catalogued as in high school, tired but no longer encoded. red eye, green eye, flattened in a remaining crumpled wounded deer.
and if this pale sheath buckles under white wind spears i may join either side of the boiling tongue if only for toques and dry shoes and bite into scarves heated by clear nest handshakes none to split a pizza from teal in a storm. it's a whole other sheet of cellophane dropped to reveal a fourth set of pews listed only as shadow shapes painted concrete floor through a screen door floor hockey transports meat to a former statepainted redbrick wall shouldertap lost (or a funnel double m gym, burning inlocker firetruck notes read in left-of-luxury stall postfinal, prefinal, whitespace dizzied unknown but anticipated outcome from autumn to winter; stoplighted chili rather than desperate heatsink pencilled all caps through thin blue unsent as bc rolled silently by but that had only occurred to me in pieces)
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