

Still LifeEveryday you pose; Stripped; Clothed; Identifying, mystifying; You submit to the exposure, Resenting the attempts to iconify your soul; Now just a static blur, stamped into nature; Abused blues dyed in your melancholy. Try to add colour to your desaturated self, It's just a matter of time before you fade into someone else. Just a matter of life-forming into a lost cause. Step out the lines they've begun drawing, And away from a mesmerizing paralysis;Still Life
Becoming your


Wary of HelpI'm capturing broken down homes, listening for all the cracks and wallsWary of Help
to tell me all they knew, and idealized. Asking all the right questions, still saying the wrong things, pushing
when I should remain mindful. Gazing at the silent changes in
assertion of words, placements still unable to hold up any arches. Helpful, heed those warnings
of giving too much concern,
wasting the preciousness of self moderation. Remember this doubt and disregard, patch the brick of your partitions keep pretending there will be reciprocation.
You.
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/max
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Comfort in exchange for need.
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Brain tingles ftw
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/max
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Thanks Max and Baltazar for the greetings.
Special thanks to Max, who did my avatar for me. It is Plato from The Death of Socrates.
Regards,
Clayton.
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/max
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