she didnt know. neither did he. somewhere between them, however, was a drawbridge, but boats couldnt decipher which way was up. nevertheless, there were no casualties, though at times he and she would keep from each other those discoveries of canvas sails and bloody footsteps sometimes found in their teeth.
i feel the need to go bump in the night with my legs wrapped around an atmospheric waist, i need to avenge everything thats been locked up in me from months while something like a fuel pipe drips pnctured security from outside of my pants. i would paint a pair of lips on the ceiling and jump inside, splitting my skull but at least i would be
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just to document this i have never been so consciously unhappy in this skin, the skin of where i am living in the walls of this embittered sadness. this is not me, i have to get out of here, the idea of trainhopping it away seems so possible, this is some final cry for help?(goodbye--)