I’m all black ink an exile sketch varicose vein in the night scents and trends lead me to your derelict niches porcupines of light piercing the dance floor a thousand shiny faces of techno human tentacles up in the air exit two stars over my astray skull if I could sculpt this eccentricity into art.
There is a voice inside
A tongue that never goes dry
The discourse, the clattering
The endless commentary
Under our thin hairs
Echoes of words, so many words
Life is raped of its simplicity
Every object has a name
Who can resist the force of opinions
Rotting in his inert monologues
Behold this eerie creature
Whose existence is ruled by
thought
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