A lank slab of instinct
mulls over in my sunken windpipe,
you know I can’t let you
slip off this shell…

You know we’ll just end up
unwrapping botched plastic films of fallow days,
leaving a scratch on the borderline, a worthless
accurate sign, impenetrable through the dusk.
Just to see who’s willing to breach
in the husk.

convulsing away
from the empty space we created,
how deep are the wells in which we’re able to fall…
Yeah, it started all again:
we’re exactly what we do pretend.
Converging gazes towards a selfless cruelty
until the outline of whatever that hurts
lose shape. Let it loose and focusless
while we rob vibrations,
one each other.

End is deafening approaching.

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