Monday, April 28, 2014

"I don't think that there are any limits to how excellent we could make life seem."

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I'll eat all of the words. 
The right words. 
Have them embossed into my aorta. 
Stitched into my left ventricle.
Holding six different reems of paper.
I devour these.
Some of them are good enough
to be printed on my arteries.
With these words, they can graffiti my pulmonary vein.


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