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tyrants of the dystopia they create1.10.09twenty seven.now all we are is; out of time. thirty six. we used to be fireworks, the rainbow cascading kind. we used to be a lullaby of whispered words and promises. we were the light breaking through the trees and reflecting on frozen water. we were once the kind of beautiful that words cannot ever dream to capture. forty five. i try to speak but i think i've lost my voice. fifty four. my dreams forgot to leave the night light on, and nightmares snuck in the back door. sixty three. my thoughts are a maze, and i am lost. seventy two. if hope is in the air and humans breathe it, then is something wrong with my lungs? one. the clouds suffocate me. gosh. the air smells like ROTTEN CELERY. what the pongass. joshy's being very sassy today. "razzmatazz." i want a bright yellow mohawk. it'll be pretty damn awesome. orange would do perfectly fine. but green would look like grass sprouting from my scalp. anyway, i'm dead beat. haven't slept for more than thirty hours. BLARGH. the haze makes my eyes itch. oh yes, i studied history today. (: amazing. |
infinity&beyond
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