

Love that can love me deadClown faces, clouded spaces; I exchange paces in doubt. Sane hearts corrupted by vulgar persuasions -Love that can love me dead
The paper endures no love, black and white social science; Thunderstorm radio was born. Transmission lucrative blues
The crusade for mental freedom, my beloved soul Is entombed just beneath our tongues that twitch, Eyes that tangle, feet that trample on the patchwork Of knitted life; concrete, glass and stainless steel.
We are getting old. Cold. Enslaved in doubt. Superhero vagabond, coins do clash. Independence, isolation; domesticated animals, fuck! I
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dis great dat jy ook hier is.
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leezil's latest - Nastya, acrylic
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