Reason for driving has always been the scenery.
Bone clad and uttered sorcery, bound under the earth.
White, oh so white, you see. I see.
My left foot, a calloused and ashen heel.
I peel the dead skin.
It all becomes undone. My foot turns to dust as I scratch away.
In a bed laughing, but not for long. I celebrate this moment.
Breath in the binary.
You and me, grasping hand, bound in wonder, the mirth.
Flaking calves, skin like folds of dried dough.
What is hap...
I marvel as the torn sheets turn to pictures. They are not slippery when wet.
Must be all in my mind
And I gather them on crows (sic) for all to see.
Still locking the door behind me.
Closing the scab.
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