Leaned in with insipid swirls of smoke, his handsome face tastes it all

Calmly parcel-strapped alongside, the fierce and wonderful over-current storm

Torrential, oh how he simply remembers it all
James Dean only twice as keen,
attire on fire, namely serene

We dress him up only to watch him stop every second time …
This blessed everything, fantastically intertwined yet dying cold-shouldered inside – to breathe for one first time

This filth within his blue-blood-bones is killing him, thrilled for an enemy to witness to see
and these walls – we’re crumblin’ ‘n’ closin’ in – ’til he appears to be … just like The Cold, Dead Sea

– Opened to peripheral persuasion –

Our invisible waves fail to shake him up ‘n’ save him every single time, mistaken it for failure when, really, he should’ve been rudimentary free

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