egypts best kept imports

breathe down my neck some more. i'm not an artist i'm just tired of the gore. how bloody and sacred these hands get and papered. how tired these eyes get and full of this future that holds less than these vats of old wounds and sutures. so fuck distance and space and time and your seasons. fuck all of this justification and reasons. forget how i wish that these keys were my fingers and everything that they knew stayed here and lingers. to learn every thing that makes you s my senior is more tiresome and villain and brought him and bring her. i'm more or less finished due to this sticky icky zinger. she used enough filters to replace my own fingers.

thanks for the wine. depth perception does make sense.



edit: never regret me.