im really just a spectre of the internet killing time in the real world, occupying space in a suit of hollow, fleshy armor. between shitty vaguebooking and bad poetry written for the cold, glib laughter of women that have asked me "why are you not romantic anymore?" I find nothing but time and time and time to stare up at the california stucco to wonder about why it's there. If you do that long e...

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