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Mar 2013
Bite size thoughts, cut from the cloth i use for warmth.

Tossed from turrets of my tattered form, pooling for a storm of will, upon the dull winds winding down to a crawl in distilled feelings felt in a movie once.

I touch the pixelation, running my fingers along the edges, until something catches, i will muster what is fathomed in an artist mocking an artist, inspired by a great mind we murdered once.

My desires are expiring in overdoses, where mastery approaches but heaves mystery and magic until gone.

I will just leave, and move on to the next one, in fun-less filtering for the core of every value, incrementing my attributes, and I'm gone.

Another zero, another one, another catastrophe, another song, that ill ignore.

I hear you whimpering, and its adorable.
Michael W Noland
Written by
Michael W Noland  Seattle
(Seattle)   
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