groans grow. growing out a horizon groin. growing from the selfish joys of a quiet, ill-reputed boy. groans roam and skip like when in rome. roaming between what we build and what grows on its own. and i can't pinpoint who's the pinner. the bowler. the bower. you fucking coward. standing behind the front. spine timely unspinely. i watch you watch your watch as i ramble on 'bout when i was in front. maybe i just want to want to.
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