My Grain

Her optimal center of emotion
The same wheel life has motioned
Myself to view in the glasses of anger
Drunk bottles of unpleasantness
Displeased migraine from raging winds
Sometimes fresh, some times in stale
I don’t want to pen how much
Or let’s say how lot could it fetch?
When shadows guide your farewells
And dreams are in buttholes
No scar to scare this sort of word
Limitless in thoughts
Spread to rot
In your face like wrinkles
In this movie
Upon the actors countenance
While sweat say to the very end.
The end.


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