why are you incessant on my demise by torment?
I already know what I know,
and I was always free anyway.
The happiness I see is myself.
The mirror reflects the same.
i just got على ارتفاع عالٍ right now,
and then I scratched my head to think of a story for you,
and I remembered the blue notebook from the pod
which housed them.
And I opened it to a random page, to see what I had written in some stupor or emotional saga of tears or uNteaRs or BUUuuuuuuutttttterflieS,
I always have those, they will not flee,
and what was me
as I read?
a poem, i guess, no. Train of thought captured in this exact form, from the pen and the handwriting of a [seemingly] serial killer, usually they ask me to handwrite the words on their love envelopes for their wedding, this has nothing to do with nice or a mess, it is what it is, and what is that?
L.L.LaLaLaLennette'LessiePruitt
I think he's an alien.
S**t! Oh, merdt!
What should I do?
...He knows my every thought,
and in the end that's why
he too does not let go.
Just when he wants to know too many faults,
he can only find few,
beginning with me loving him.
Paradox.
White on white.
We are pure.
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