Black messengers amplify the video wildlings who've jeered at the number of words to your open tabs
Five mexican butterflies, ahold of the continuation, changed a lock on the streets of l'imaginaire,
Steady tails with their own interpretation holding out to communicate with the other bedroom wildlings who shared cosmic string.

Listen you: I hold to my story only because of the storms
The light gushing and that open tomb knowledge flooding the eyeballs around that inscription page of television silver

Listen too to the short assumption maniac with her cocktail umbrella mary rope
In what kind of wrangled text window do we embrace the breath of one blushing shame
Killed with her own account
Nothing other than a spalled spark springer holding a badly holed 29 genius mixed with the shotgun fade-to-greys
Like blood from petroleum harpoons you
Their aim is not as even as I bet

Five seconds of dead star slingshots back into the shotgun sizzles razed all the city
Knives that those lowlifes of the merry-go-round stab into the gods hall might offer a litre of economic protection, but no more
In my bedroom, the rope stretches, and the dollface has fallen
Angel cage bars blind a new you again

Embrace me

But everything is heavy in a soft universe

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made by Vixen Phillips | foxtail @ protonmail . com | @subtransience@tiny.tilde.website | @foxtailrainbow