Sometimes I dont really know which way flat is. I am not I, and there's a person for a given situation without anything actually being there. Claws on steel?
I once read that psychologists are like bald people handing out hair removal cream. 'an apparent irony'; blah blah.
A style is not a style a word is not a word have you seen a word. Have you seen a word? Eyes cut. Always straight though. Fucking straight.
Who is what? What does he even fucking want?
'I am x'.
'But I change'
'Well I'm mostly x'.
'How can you be mostly x? You're either a certain person or you're not. Who the fuck are you anyway?'.
*
Then I forget any of it matters. Clouds bleed below a dying sun. Shit drips on.
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