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Aug 2019
My mother seven five eight, losing till you cannot create
Post after ten o clock, I see numbers scratching a mark
I’m in the bathroom at seven, the grandeur, the pastures, the foreheads
My endure is blasted, singing right to the ones who knew

The night’s ticking out till 5 am, 5 am, 5 am
That’s where you come from in dark amends, braving send, dark amends
The hornets and brass of thunder tail, soothing scale, fairy tale
Pristine engulfment of the whale

Pour the anchor out of the cup again
Take my name so I’m leaning at the eye
(Movies fill my eyelids)
With the one can’t be tamed
To write it up, but see nothing right
(Undo gamer sparkle)
The penumbra of sharpened cries
The bells inside your eyes
I need it
(Oil of sundry cancer)
The mendacity hiding
The ghost of the future is too long past

Curling jokers in and out of the pout, for a cloud, till I’m drowned
The markers on the board **** me out, liquid bound, writing round
The masking of the drill cuts the sound, could be found, always loud
Under the stars under everyone
(Toilet mustard heartache)
(Pills that contour grand estate)
Written by
Trout  Chicago
(Chicago)   
186
   TheIdleOwl
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