Thursday, November 12, 2009

ketchup on sleep

variations on a lacking necessity

manicuring your french kiss smelling like a glossy fashion magazine, slow bones, and I think I've died here under a seasonable delirium, who are you? I drive round with a funeral sticker on my window—people get out of my way. just when I thought you forgot to forget, invested with full power, is it a bargain? there's nothing cinematic about it.

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