“le livre bleu”
Terabytes.
lonely poets, writers,
musicians and artists play here,
they wear masks that cover
vermillion dripping smiles
over sharp little wolverine teeth,
they drown their sorrows in their muses -
contemporary little monsters – Still Life,
they call it “art”,
smiles;
gothic invested, they adore
the overzealous use of the word “lachrymose”,
they swallow it up until they’re drowning
in the macabre...
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