One more spin on a working class mind. Endless tasks for redemption, clueless warmth sucking the corpse out to complete reincarnation. The fragility of a blink was never intended for such heart-pounding caress. Neither was it meant for an exuberant extension. It's a life destined to puff, a leaf bound to last.
How could you have known? Strangers always return as friends in retrospect. Shall we leave it there and move to that vacant table at the end of the spectrum?
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1 comment:
compose thought, decompose me.
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