Fine when we can get it to bare its censored teeth again, something or another preposterously placed rather circumspect and jadedly before us all

She, both he, who stand miraculously, marvellously tall and can hold the world within a decidedly cumbersome nutshell – she befell the fall of one crime-time too many and double-doused him by the inner white-lie of her adolescently stressed eyes

Plays at fantastical pretend before it ever lent itself impenetrably toward making fabricated sense – she sells it so succinctly if he pleases her to do it so sweetly

Together they were a far-reaching assembly of inner-thinking people – black or white, they burnt the light ’til left itself lit sufficiently in-between
They do not eat so that they won’t throw up anymore

Obsessed with Lichtenstein, they drew the prose to their own compulsory conclusion – and like with the ilk of the smartest of stop/start artists’, they failed at watching themselves fail to comprehend and grasp the makings of the next great masterpiece

“Yes,” she whispered it hard, and deeply at that, “you can be too smart to adhere to the honourable spadework of vaguely lit. fiction.”

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