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Grim Weeper
Rip a strip of wet pillow, stick it in an empty beer bottle. Light the end on fire but nothing seems to happen. An allegory of my life, they call me the molotov floptail. As my flame it will not light, inspiration feeling frail. My canvas remains blanc; white. A blend of nought and pale…
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weep

The perception of time can vary, feeling like an eternity or a mere instant, influenced by gravitational pull. Emotions intertwined with the passing moments, as reality blurs in the moonlit night.