The words I’m dead may never be said, a recited psych, infinite light that put halos over your leftover bites.
Unmentionable nights, feeling as goofy as a crippled in tights, hungover sights with pleasant radiant delights.
Impregnate the possibilities, discombobulate continuity, abort self retorts like you would to a busted Newport.
Retire my deity, indict bitter sobriety, retelling smells from bottomless wells, yells don’t work well, how often do you see a kid come out of a circular cell?
Let’s all ring florescent bells, relinquish pain like a two legged horse claim.
I knew this dyke, rebels think she’s tight, she killed a shrew, incarcerated for two, long pending death sentence, the harmed nest is put to rest.
She went down, her family faced the frown, attempting letters that bound, a death saw coming is a breath less cunning.
Bountiful worries, from the observatory came this allegory, shoe boxed are our stories.
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