

Reality At It's FinestA sickness runs over you like cream runs though hot coffee. You're switching skins and switching colors. You're changing your name, and killing your author.Reality At It's Finest
There's a harsh screaming sonnet swimming against the walls. It gracefully curls, and dies as it greets the air. Like a sea turtle reaching for the sea Like the waves swept by the pull of that everglowing light. Like all the breath seeping from our lips The hissing in your voice. The greed in your touch.
The funny thought that we're all struggling to survive,to the upmost depth. And through all this life
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"This is my timey-wimey detector. It goes ding when there's stuff."
p.s. thank you for the fav
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If you like pretty colours...
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Oh, thou salty libertine,
Shed not thine tears of pale marine,
Upon my rusted moon-machine.
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