Copy ImageA love poem about the most invisible woman:The perfect mind, the perfect cover.I knew her, like… there was no other.No, I will never, her, forget.In pure blood - these words are set.She walks alone now, in my dreams,where no is never, so it seems.The night is dark, and near the hour –to plant a tree, where roses flower.And then, again, again, once more,Till hidden is what I adore.Her heart was pure, and also kind,And I… should not have acted blind
Will Advise
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Sometimes I drink coffee at 03:57am, only I call it beer, and it's really purple wine, disguised as clear distilled water, taken from my invisible car's radiator. She used to like radiator water too, so this also serves as a self-reminder to never share a glass with someone who has had hepatitis. Glasses are the main source of broken relationships. I mean glass hearts, as they only bend and change their shape under extremely high temperatures, which, unfortunately, are technically impossible to achieve in some places, like Soviet Russia, where nothing ever happens, because it doesn’t really exist anymore
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I don't sleep. I just let my body lie itself into numbness and lie to myself that I can't hear, see, or feel anything
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On building homes for fallen angels:When I was small - I sought a home,a place to go and rest my bones.Then founded something, of my own,I lived among the restless stones.If seeking leads you back to evil,what good is that, I asked a weevil.He said a home is what you make,it can't be real, if it is fake...And if you wait instead of seek,will you find love, or something bleak?I know (myself) for I have found,a beauty, hidden – in a sound.Waiting is boring.And so is exploring.A smile is sometimes all it takes.And then your whole world simply breaks
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Everything is like a wall. Said a scholar to the troll. Bang your head to go on through. Then you'll see, there is no queue