This is the last of the washed-out summer dreams
in the
ten feet deep by ten feet wide
I'm putting this year
you're blocking out the sun
dear God, there's a pulse on
get your eyes off me. keep your head down until
Hey casting couch superstar, we got the letter and we’re
I will take what I want from you, and you
headaches keep getting worse. every plastic surgery eye that looks
it only took one bottle
two vertical lines
a pair of stress
This is the note on the brick through your window.
you might as well put the gun away. this isn't
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