i can’t be on the phone long
you’ll see They twist every breath and every piano key
so just listen to the last of my voice, stranded
i sleep outside now
in this starry room.
the gunners with us swoon
at the wicked lemon of my thoratic bloom
which are embers of the Infinite
spelling soon
do not ingest what they tell you when they tell you about me
it was never hate
they were never civilians
and the smiles on our dead would have given you too over to the green birds
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