Dead orchids on the kitchen table informed the feeling she was after, but not to seem uncomplicated they filled the empty rooms with laughter. Climbing to the top of the elevator. There would be pleasure in the moonlight, which drowned the cutlery like a faucet, directing their hands to the countertop.
Staring at the subtitles in Japanese, I started to read, not sure if it was a dream (I'd like to find a way out of my head, find a routine without so much disease). Stepping through the shops, eyes covered, passing the time. It was clear that no one's here to find.
Inspired by her carefree nature, investors threw their funds at bullets. Out East there is a sale on herbal tea competing with the price of gasoline. They still lay face down in recliners, swill instant coffee in the afternoon. Its hard to tell there is a crisis. You swear you still can't taste the difference.
All of the masks fell
all to enslave them
soaking the pavement.
I don't believe/I believe.