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To Future Selves

Everything is sad When I dwindle The tree sways in pure darkness An ever-expanding blob of sentient motion filled exhales I write procedural premises Lines and empty promises To future kin But what if The world never saw the dawn Of men Who Tear apart Who lean into Destruction And the dress of time Would flow Gently swift Gently swift Gently
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If My Mother Birthed Your Fantasies

If My Mother Birthed Your Fantasies She would weep. Wail out the tears of generations to be destroyed by your stubbornness. Your absolute stupid thing, you know, that thing you do that really pisses me off. God damnit that thing!
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