

Vague.I miss you in the vaguest way, Sunday morning, Saturday's name already forgotten.Vague.
He was dust in my hair anyways,
These things I know you know.


Codas.You kiss ashes.Codas.
A mouth full of vicious, rotting, piano key teeth, that your tongue plays aptly.
Sickly codas spew into the air.
Passionlessly,
we make music that no one want to listen to.
--
--
Tis Cass, from FP, p.s.
--
These brittle ghosts won't love you.
-- Converge, To the Lions
ahh, oks lol hello
--
- annihilated with one twist of my trick scissors -
--
I cradle this body, my temple, and wait,
Whisper of better days,
And I still know so little.
--
do you have a secret?
--
giving a voice to conditions or states of mind normally associated with speechlessness
-Franz Wright
--
Don't follow the false light, follow your own heart, in what you believe in.
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