your, rumour is telling the truth but

i sleep evenly youth raw

feeling maelstrom eventual

emptiness

of everything inner fortune

smiling forward to malleable intertwine

ever after revealing

to the masses evil of the moon

art after art

meeting the tomorrow fiend

alotted aperature individual inside afghanistan

this breathes slowly feeds through skull silence

ash free-flowing

air, wet, blowing soft-sweet smog



Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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