Her name was Experience.
Ripped patterns frayed and displayed across the real thing
honey dripping down a concrete building
teenage girls sreaming, laughter sharp as daggers
others kneeling, puking melodies and brightly coloured flowers
Blind men pointing fingers, saying "seeing is believing"
Lost boys retracting feelings hanging from ropes from the cieling
The crimson that comes after the first breath of newborns
naked footsprints of lovers sprint across the floorboards
soaked napkins stuffed inside a cup by a sympathy-soaked diner pig
Dreamers searching for the inside so all they do is dig
White birds flying up until they blend in with the clouds
little children punished for the enthusiasm in behing loud
she blinks and tiny fragments of life suck into me like tunnel vision
"Now you're past your ocular prison"
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