Call it

We can’t help ourselves caught in the act of folding our tongues. The rapid waste of lines bind us to our seats screaming– foot loose. Step out in to the blue, the wave clashes over the same hue. Catching needles at the rate of our lies. Spinning over our eye sockets until we fall out. There’s nothing for us here.

At least not yet, let’s grab ourselves together. Hand  by hand and make a scene with bursts of colors. All eyes looking over. The gaze of the sun looks over to us. We tinker on the bells of freedom. Taste from the silver streams overflowing from the belts of Neptune. The age rapidly takes over our sore eye sights. We fix on the trace that takes us far from here. To the following webs. The following traces of your touch skid over the banks, where the prances of horse knights run untamed.

 

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