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Sep 2015
Under black lights, stains soil out skins. We lay there looking down the hill.

City lights and silhouettes of fast moving rickety cars. We could care less, we're beat and sticky.

The air stinks of Marijuana. The smokes dance to the tunes of Coffee whilst we lay in the cold room.

We've entwined our realities into one perfect moment in psychedelic states

We don't know what this
means but we could care less.

It's all about living in the moment. This night would be eternity blossoming into tomorrow.

Where's the fun in forever.
Y
Written by
Y  Other side of é blackhole
(Other side of é blackhole)   
661
   --- and Cecil Miller
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