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I'm in a pickle. a pickle jar. Cupping in my palms your dripping regurgitated shit.
How lovely, how lovely, we cradled these thoughts. Repeatedly relaying them amongst ourselves. Our linear smiles met end to end, describing best what words alone could not scream.
Fasten your fingers beneath your seat. Anticipate the anesthetized descent.
I turned to the side and saw you smile as the back of your head melted off of your bones.
So easy peasy like mac-n-cheesy.
Our eyes drooled out an unending flood, washing away your skin. Yet still you sat with your drawn-on smile, blinking away like the flashes of a dying camera.
10:54 AM
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