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Can one really tell our lives? Are they possible to describe?   To list blatant truths Find the subtle lies   Remember, record, and all in between Should we do it ourselves?
Ink   Quickly the ink spreads, running across the pages. Making sense within their lines, keeping records through the ages.
a quiet afternoon, a mug of coffee encased in both hands. i stare into the circle of beige, at the steam coming out of the brim, and i watch my anxieties evaporate. a blue turntable,
the needle comes down and a crackle comes to life shellac disc inscribed with spiral grooves
Squares in a series; Each song helps paint my story. They call me: FLAWLESS.  
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