tremors curled over a porcelain mouth, i let my dinner fall out.it's 9:33 p.m. and i think about saturday, when rain hit the pavement like firecrackers, the sky darker than the shadows behind the shower curtain. i know there's a spider burrowed between those plastic folds.funny thing about deep spaces; they feel better when they're stuffed full. i think about how your fingertips made my skin feel soft and breakable, how your tongue was warm, about how my legs wouldn't stop shaking and you laughed, whispering, "you okay?" well, there's this experience known as an aftershock.hands clutching cold tile,
epitaph erased here lie the deep-seated sinsof the hollow-hearted youth, of the kids who lie alone with clammy hands and half-mast eyesgripped by late night desiresand words carved into tabletops, words telling of wet cold sheets and wet hot limbs:here lie the unspoken truthsof the insignificants, of the ones who sit lonely on mattress edges and hard floorswhile their mouths hang openand their tongues dry out.
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From this point forward.
amazing, love it. :3
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If there's no life anymore, who will pity the dead?
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If there's no life anymore, who will pity the dead?
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Kokoronin GRAFSIDEONE crew [link]
"SEMPER IN FEACIBUS, SOLE PROFUNDUM VARIAT" We are always in Shit, only the depth varies.
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"'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings."