Attic space; rifling through talking points

Creaks like afraid whilst i repose unconfined as he sits in his unsteady unsureness motioning to me, “why”?He replied the same programs clattering pulse less meaning to leave telling me to go. Discontent filed down his unheard inertia a stranger within and still egging me to speak: graved.

An iridescent neon pulse wading in the city skyline waves of downwind foam: beads ebbed and rested. balloons highlighted with the subtle flow as a strain of light begins to feed and grow

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