old boys, young men;
heat boils growing on their scalps,
sip tea upon a pavement,
wishing this time would never leave.
heat boils growing on their scalps,
sip tea upon a pavement,
wishing this time would never leave.
"Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. ... Free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world. Was Rorschach."
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