the smallest eye move tickles and the eye candy glistens
razors on your neck, ruins on hands, deep eyes with perhaps some light at the end.
you pierced me, but that's not the right word. you permeate, and crawl through my nose.
i see you everywhere, on shirts, pictures, even your grafitti when i'm taking a piss.
you wear all black, ready for your funeral,and it's a quiet miracle you're alive
i'm glad i know the breathing and present you, but i long for the man of his stories
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