Tufts of rusted coils fortified by the lacquer of
one dollar hair gel stolen from the aisles.
The contours of its shape pregnant with defiance,
groaning with the murmurs of the wind.
My words stiled and stalled
bent before the lip of tomorrow.
Waiting to remember exactly
What it is i am supposed to be doing.
one dollar hair gel stolen from the aisles.
The contours of its shape pregnant with defiance,
groaning with the murmurs of the wind.
My words stiled and stalled
bent before the lip of tomorrow.
Waiting to remember exactly
What it is i am supposed to be doing.
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