tonight i will write intimate letters and fold them into paper airplanes of different sizes.
i will spew them out of my mouth and pilot them to the thresholds of your subconsciousness where you can either interpret the signs or fail to catch them at all.
as i do that, i will use my third eye that can see a black sun and record your masochistic onanisms as scarlet tints coat the moon.
i will close my eyes born with impressionistic visions of the world and see a myriad of images from the past, present and future, monet style.
i will let the images serve as the palette to paint the blank canvasses of my paper airplanes- the vessels that will carry the most mundane and profound thoughts from my soul.
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