It's indulgent self-abuse and a 20-dollar skirt. It's yellow and spicy and it's like laying on the carpet and looking up. It's eating white pills and white food, soothing. It's being 50 feet tall and gliding with each foot on parallel railroads.
It's living in my frontal lobe. I imagine my brain, swollen with pain.
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1 comment:
If you can add something that rhymes brain and pain with rain then it will officially be a crime if you do not submit it to Calliope.
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