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Fuck it;)

Word smith an unintelligent gun smith power lives, in the sound between your lips so girls bend your hips just jokes so, Netflix and chill, ...

Monday, 8 March 2021

Grey days.

Hollow points to the open chest
wall shackled with this eternal rest
slowly drift away, vacantly possessed
silently look up for a selfish request
aimlessly addressed, as the bullets suppressed.

A world away, a whole world decays
slowly makes way to a hole on display
each day it replays, 'pon a screen painted grey.