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Amnesia like leaky faucets swollen drain ventilates vapid powdered portrait
At least smiled.
Blood slightly warmed manicure and smiled in forgotten garden
Such lovely font.  All wanted
Mini clouds surrounding shrines backlit green in ritual.
Smiles speak but of the wet smell of pollen and the sweat collecting in his hand behind the small of her uncrushed spine.

Curing chlamydia the straight—A fairytale.  Conned alive, clumsily and bitter.
Nurtured cotton uprooted attempt.  Scrubbed stains to shreds

Not even the green light merely aftermath so of course when shaking egg shells sheltering in “cold hands warm heart” chests receive the song I sing but never knew
bird Oct 2017
smoke ventilates like sweat from stress
hand on head, ritual for want of death. You step out for open air and find yourself at a cliff edge, where the stars of the little man
blink back at you
reminded of the people who bled the floor you suction too, and gasp, the notion brought by the sight ahead, to fall is to fly and to change you must divide
a life is threaded, indispensable
to mankind
?
hell yea
Norbert Tasev Aug 2021
In my eyes, childish fears wander in alarm; my rustling petty faith in my late manhood makes me cry! Terrible resentment is spreading in the trenches of my gray, bleeding soul! Substantial intent is starting to gather! As a prisoner, I am forced to stare around grid days! As a sick chest, I shudder around myself! I feel an unmoved resignation in missed opportunities that don’t support - but haunt me!
 
My expectations are already wasting time! My selfish decay is also sharpened by needle-sharp teeth, it hurts more and more, it chews and chews! - A despair terrifying in my beating heart like a series of new tachycardia landslides: destructive, loneliness of consciousness seeps through the cracks of annual rings! On cold nights, mold-and-white wax puppets, like prostitutes, exploitable indifferent people stutter on each other! - Fates, limited by their destiny, calmed down, battered by tragedies, are Being walking towards the unknown!
 
Between my crouching contemplations, there is an eternal, mischievous piece of moment: while the fierce law of Executioner times stays with me! Maybe even someone can wait for me to continue! The everyday robot continues to run within the wrinkled boundaries of Being! The completed imperfection also has a separate law! The distant insecure always fills itself with a semi-obscurity: that’s why it can happen that I always come back to myself, I turn back!
 
The Avar-rotten smell of fermentation ventilates me; the plundered tears of my face are trickled and torn by a blade-edged wind! Every minute I start to realize my stubborn guilt, and between my doubts, the remnants of faith are becoming more and more weak!

— The End —