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not art
12:11 a.m. 2004-07-21

These tides bring tidings of terrible truths that boiled down to nothing in your reflective eyewear and these nails scrap our souls painted glittery red and sawdust sincerity. "and lastly there's dave" i am dave in my troubled pensive tribulations and everything is a thought nothing more upstairs. Can you hear my whispered desperation carried on sprayladen winds "why can't you just understand" and why won't someone help me. probably because i won't let you close and burn these pictures with a smile and a sigh and could you burn the memories from the top of this city a bleak highrise heavy with regret and the scent of gunpowder that drowns you out so perfectly. Fuck these empty syllables when did i last feel alive?

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words @ jake, layout @ kelly