bleed! bleed! bleed! bleed! bleed!
but i shalln’t be happy.
filth gets washed away all the time.
and no one notices.
ignore me.
“I’M” hearing voices.
this is the home of The Beachcomber.
these are the ramblings of a confuséd individual.
that some might call poetry.
that some might call Benjamin.
these are the ramblings of a confuséd individual.
that some might call poetry.
that some might call Benjamin.
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