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Cold shoulders, golden folders of silent cold war, fucking smell the folgers, feel the smolter from the tip of my tongue, I done told her a million times, silly am I, killing my mind, with filthy m.o, but still tmi, with everything. Sending hate to the ventriloquist act I tend to hack a lung pretending wake is the only option because sleep is heavyweight. Hemingway the way I'm stemming from, lemme wait. Wait for what? The taste of what? The taste of failure, I can't make this up. I taste the blunt state that we stay in once the fade has faded away at once, face the front. I can't. Fuck it I faked it once, I can fake again, I can fake a friend. Fuck you I can't fake amends, amen to the trade that stay undid. Undo the day in and day out routine a day again. Repeat cycle, keep your preteen psycho shit at the door while I walk this beedy tight rope. No amusement in the usage of my lineage when blood is pouring out perfucious, losing myself like its deuces to my state of mind. I dated enough to say I'm light hearted with major issues, like I'm feint inside. The taste that you laid on mine, Marlboro menthol and a case of Light. I can taste it now, how much time am I wasting now? Face my faceless frown to blank spaces. Wow. I should write this down. I moved on, like I always do. All this blue I pour dissolves into my all for you, for all I do. I should call a truce between my heavy heart and my demolished youth. They're at odds, but I can't even. I know could spring away in the AM, but I'll just fall for you again in the evening.
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