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Everything I've Ever Written

Published 2 months ago - 1.2k plays

I press my forehead to the window of my skull. THIS IS TRANSLATION: the pulse, the tremor, the grammar of wanting. I begin to catalogue: the temperature of your collarbone, compulsion becomes choreography, i will not hurt you; the room folds into its own vocabulary. kill yourself before its too late

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0:10.73

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0.39

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11K

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82%

(17 votes)

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