WHISPERING JOURNALISTIC THOUGHTS IN A QUIET PLACE WHERE I DWELL
down deep where unseen is unseen
way far away where not a soud can be heard
in a place where oblivion is oblivious to oblivion
i dwell as if normal life recently invented was never an idea
the castle where i now lay my head is a mere blueprint example made of a vapor long since antiquated
i eat a bowl of iced soup and tickle each icicle that has grown rip van winkle beards dyed blue
the key to the city is abandoned and the rust make it cum hard exploding pepper spray sperm
where is the air when deep is pitch black dispare
why do i cry as i sigh on the midst of being super shy
i only beam when the team's dreams are oddly serene so it seems
the end is so dirty that that it feels so clean that it sheens and its presentation is so abstract front to both sides in all strides to the very back that i do not come close to knowing what it all means
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