My days at the mind control centre have been tailored to fit the desperate needs of the immaculate trends of this ever-exploding society.
After my fallin in love with a daughter of the new middle class who wore her mouth like Bardot and shone her smile through a thousand rainy day, I took myself to the roots of my naked mind, stripped from the ruins of future generations and learned to weigh every single word like I weigh an ounce of grass.
I can still remember her in that faded blue jeans strolling down the valley of kings and her wine kisses on my lips that kept me going. She used to whisper in my ear that I was a poet to her as Virgil is to Jackey Kennedy and James Baxter to myself. I wonder if her silence still speaks of love songs and her eyes still talk volumes.
Don't blame it on me if rivers drop and oceans shrink and every single thing goes topsy-turvy...
I'm writing these notes under perfect conditions - drowning in an angel's arms, running her delicate fingers through my ...
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