Scam Artist
The night’s all right with aeons’ history. Dead stars spot you from light years away. It’s all a mind game anyway. The coming day darts over the gyre of another revolving weekday, and in the basement, brother dear plays another video game. I’m on the roof, hugging the chimney. It’s nice to have some gravity
In this scam artist of a place.
It’s a restless way to sit still while staying to true my outlines. My dust is still unsettled, pardoning and reconstructing my sillouhette. I’m a province of over-plucked skin petals. I’m a zone of conflicting sectors: Oriental motions, royal intimations, and Middle Eastern horrors. It’s probably better to have a heritage
In this scam artist of a place.
The sky is a flailing gesticulation. Its solid memory is an understanding that should realize eternal tangibility, but the dawn hails another deficit of world wide welkin videos and imperishability. My name is in marquee, sprayed in the alleyway as a temporary consolation prize before they whitewash the wall and my claim to an afterlife. It’s nice to have a hallmarked tag that can last for a bit
In this scam artist of a place.
In this scam artist of a place.
It’s a restless way to sit still while staying to true my outlines. My dust is still unsettled, pardoning and reconstructing my sillouhette. I’m a province of over-plucked skin petals. I’m a zone of conflicting sectors: Oriental motions, royal intimations, and Middle Eastern horrors. It’s probably better to have a heritage
In this scam artist of a place.
The sky is a flailing gesticulation. Its solid memory is an understanding that should realize eternal tangibility, but the dawn hails another deficit of world wide welkin videos and imperishability. My name is in marquee, sprayed in the alleyway as a temporary consolation prize before they whitewash the wall and my claim to an afterlife. It’s nice to have a hallmarked tag that can last for a bit
In this scam artist of a place.