every little bit counts. feeling, i still feel you like a spry doe that feels her blood pulsing through the dirt to a another life. taken from me the best thing i could have gievn away. mushrooms are always in their past life, here to poison whats already there and acid wash into a new time, all the sudden not one certain smile, last look, or reassurance of my young soul could even make it to the place i'd rather be with you. i dreamed that i was really missing my long brown hair. i had word salaad for breakfast and word vomit projected to orange paper, what if you had to paint your day for it tto be beautiful, or write it out makr life happen, most people act it all out and cry later when no one theyve created knows who they are. flat worms; like us, separated by tainted conciousness and who's leading the way. mazed in and out of life and fed after death to a new them, and the memory of the right way is digestively and inheritently with the essence that every separte concoiousness is one.
three shadows make a solid composition under the orange glow. This house of box worlds holding life only when the owner inflluences the ingredients. like us, i drank so much water today, that i am the city. if that makes since, clear pee doesnt clean the sea.
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