| wylde wrote: |
| . flat lining as a coping mechanism its unplugged weave threads through needles pinless pricks eyes numb detachment retina skewers uopon nothing flatter than a dead mans finger felt on another epistles existless hand stroking emptied space drainless in a blanched veritable table of sodden misgiving giving rise to no pulse its safety matches strikes in a glass bubble airless to suffocated flame inert unruptured by demonised daemons or guts spilled entrails of whisperers coo cooing like a revolver glove contained in and by nothing and everything . |
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