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concentric life, because the peach velvet returns as wrinkled skin. remember the old book in the bedroom? it contained your now dead laugh, old food scraps, everything you said about the weight of pain and about the failure of anesthesia who created the graves full of screams. there is no more perfect frame for this morning caged in dim lights. anyway, only we knew: the earth melting means that the rush of the rockets makes sense.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

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