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Is this pressure?
I tend to radiate a sense of depression through presence,
Through you I mean the sky could take form in colors.
Don’t say that plastic shit and invoke the celluloid in my eye,
I will remember what you said last night, regret and take form in colors.
The rush of vessels covered skin already blistered in remark,
Should the tongue sharpen further to cut images replaced before.
I don’t quite think you grasp situation you see in front of you,
Intellectual, your as fake as the feelings I presented to that open ear
