Wrong century — eatartdaily

Imperfect me. A mire, of errors. A statue of mistakes. An open heart, left gaping, bleeding. Collect the sea salt, the sea weed, the blowfish, in my liver. What was wrong with him? He was a fish. But we do not begin to see humanity’s cross over, with fish, until the year three thousand. Sometimes […]

via Wrong century — eatartdaily

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