12:15:07

I have secrets that I hide in the folds behind my Vanillin face. this unclean business life unfurls at my fingertips, holds onto hip bones, and treads to safety. Within our morphine sty, inside this vase, we lie in vain. Sometimes we thieve the snow, sullen drawals draped behind the serene. So we crave the hour, make time into a trammeled arch, today what was said seems like a simple act, but Orson Wells set down your Bell Jar, your keys, and sift through the pain awhile. This night you stay in crowded fights, your afterglow glimmering, your nacreous shell, I laugh how it tries. Between the mattresses where your heavy tricks playout and courage strives for when the symptoms fade. Periodically, we take this dance and wind up spilling like Orchids at a teenage wake. Hung up on numbers invited to the still, just watch how I procure yesterday. Today has been ripe for the grieving, crisp burnout for the specialty.