

Lock Picks and RocksWe broke into the old apartment to look for things we'd lost when moving on and moving out, across the streetLock Picks and Rocks
and sixteen cities South. I tried to take the poems from the windows but memories are more permanent than marker. Mornings seemed longer when sunrise wrote words on bare walls and bare skin, or when I traced end-rhymes and metaphors into the curve
of your hips.
These days we don't sleep.
and I couldn't find them; instead
we found furniture that spelled apathy
and wrong words on right angles, organized
and dead. They painted over &nbs
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'we'll turn the lights down low. and watch the earth explode';
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so on and so forth.
:b
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ignoring it won\'t make it go away
** lays on the floor happily twitching from your fav kindness like a wasp snatched out of the air by potent, nerve-destroying, fav spray **
**twitch**
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Here is my real art: [link]
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what?
Hello there,
I just wanted to come on by
and personally thank you
for giving Coma a read
and for adding it to your
gallery. Your support is greatly
a p p r e c i a t e d.
Much gratitude,
Coelho
--
"I love you more than my own skin." -- Frida Kahlo
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