Screw your “You’re on hold while we fuck around.” jazzy elevator music. -.-
He sees sound.
He tastes color.
He speaks solace.
He breathes ink.
He loves you.
He feels the cosmos in his veins.
He is one with the universe.
He will die.
He tastes color.
He speaks solace.
He breathes ink.
He loves you.
He feels the cosmos in his veins.
He is one with the universe.
He will die.
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