. . . Some say the eyes are windows to the soul and some they knock with stones . Once there were shattered glass in my eyes now I walk on those shards trying to not make a sound pretending the woollen floor is a river of drops since I do not wish to cause a racket . But maybe perhaps I'll see you in Home once more glancing through coloured blinds and the heart would truly smile . . .
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I perform in your mind where do you begin to tell my end are you doing it for me what is beyond your mind and inside where do I exist and why do I do what I do how much do you create create me and you ?
Hello! So much capitalism. xoxo, The anti-capitalism motherf**ker