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The Fly.

A fly dances around the rim of my glass, and, unknowingly to myself, as I lift it toward my lips, I am about to kiss everything that its small quick moving legs have touched. 969 more words

Writing

Sent From iPhone while walking home.

I’m staring in the face of a total psychological collapse. I think this book is stupid, I think I’m a self-absorbed, gross human being that somehow hasn’t killed himself yet. 542 more words

Writing