Chaotic metaphor, 

the art of a clueless ass, 

this evening of unprecedented memories. 

Make memories…drink viscous whiskey…make memories…dissolve sweats into squally breasts, 

make memories…shave the egoistic beard. 

Nerdy infants would cross the roads with comrades and you will write poems for mess, for umbrellas, for painted gods. 

Dear, either be beautiful or be a bohemian…I would spare you some words. 

Suck me away with those bones without flesh, without future, without your erotic selfishness. 

Perhaps the best thing with words is it let you live with no love and no fuck. 

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