Inaccuracy Comments

Inaccuracy of existence.

Unless you are here for a reason, your phantom pushing and pushing, what for?
You're like a wrinkled body of a cloth, or a forgotten script. What now if you fasten my hands into your entrails? These are all answers I have to invent- instinctive, unwise, unsolicited. Somewhere, I had to point out the differentiating margin between speaking too much and conveying so little, and the finite range of silence sensing outsomething in you, about you, and arriving here.
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