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Monthly Archives: April 2014

I scrub persistently at the errors in your functional idols, and I¬†retreat when the integrity of her demeanor goes to mush, but I nod with stale optimism at the pristine rows of unwrapped brand new mirrors issued for everyday abuse, and I try ordering facts, yet I must be attentive to their entropic contributions, though I recline into a newscast, while she blunders into a mystic sponsored allegory, that does little to peel away egocentric dangers baiting the frail remnants of our previously solidified conscience, which is quietly pirated by the machines we used to own, and I stack together hazy geometric fantasies arriving only during naps, but I stare too long at these frozen rusted cranes awkwardly poking out of the skyline, and I dance with a beat if it’s available, though I remain obedient to violently hygienic paths determined by chance, and I stream videos like a friendship¬†algorithm, yet I categorize my wardrobe, and I lust for a guide through the signifiers of immortality.

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I seem to have become detached from her pretty rebellion, and I listen to myself whisper phrases in a circle until the signification turns oddly frightening, but I haven’t auctioned off these instruments, while I undergo paralysis in the reception of dainty moments from this contemporary sonnet, that longs for nothing, while each traffic hue attempts direction, and I would gladly prelude our biological campaign with messes of hopeful ideas, yet I board planes, and I remember daily, though I address these unconscious land mines, but I foresee possible intricacies in the vast choreography of how she might adjust her wardrobe after rising from a most typical bench, and I jingle my keys.

I don’t fight getting swallowed up again by the name escaping culprit, and I reach over to where she used to frequent, but I justify panic as a kind of spirituality, yet I only kept their incidental words, because I care little for a resolved nuisance, and I hope for disjointed layers of thought being applied generously to our sex motivated contrivances, that accumulate into a minimally noteworthy reforestation of this vacant humanistic drama, but I commit to the failures, and I do sometimes trample these robotic egos with aggressive jubilance, though I intentionally forget the color of her eyes, while I number these rain drops.

I anticipate your tactile onset, while demarcating the exaggeratory methods of neurosis, but I questioned without prejudice, and I race myself too often, yet I accentuate this brand of orphaned creativity, but I notice weeping does not produce growth, and I looked down quickly as the business executives passed right through me, while I fake knowledge of tomorrow, and I relish in the comfort of a left denim pocket, but I serve unrealistic themes.