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Seeping through the endtimes

That past beauty is to never come
again. Between the six walls of regret every
movement of his 
mouth melts. 
An arranged heartbeat a very precise cut
checkered oppressive tiles
sweet secured exits
nothing beats the revolt climbing the throat
from inside up
from inside.
Ever seen a monster devour
mistakes ever seen
a country of hearts in a potato
still not
stained enough still
not drained
that past beauty
of the empty gaping holes of twenty and some
that past beauty
of the fluid streets of his disappearing town
is to never come again
stuck closed eyelids deep
breaths sighs and
violence
nothing beats the revolt climbing
the throat from
the head

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Make a plea se
any
stay STIHL for now
taste the copper no
the work comes from the self that is a circular event
start to end same stop
I
make a plea
se 
Triste
T R I S T E
the filth from all the nuns and the newborns is under my nails and behind my eyes that I'd like to
open the mouth and its melting history
never a word again Worte Worte ruhige Liebe
un
plea se
do you at all?
Copper no the work comes from the self that is a circular event. I'm a waste at a loss.