It's as if a font, the curve of your letters, creates a bias. It's as if this endless sea of smiles before me are bared teeth. It's as if your burden, your fear is my menace. It's as if my constant use of high heels will restrain my ever-present urge to run. It's as if restraint could actually restrain. It's as if playing house with you could mask what really happening. It's as if what's really happening happens alot here in the sweet tea country.
It's as if clutching a copy of cosmo will help me keep in touch. It's as if the sweet tea country will satiate my physical comfort. It's as if the Big Apple will satiate my mental creative blackhole. It's as if no matter what important choice I make, I'm slated for regret.
It's as if I'm slowly being paralyzed. It's as if the glittering mania encompassing my hands is becoming a pair of steel handcuffs.
It's as if the persian elaborate rug will fly before I do.
It's as if a starlet simultaniously imploded too early and too late.
It's as if the phoenix will rise from the ashes if I fall in love with you.
It's as if every time the stuttering pyromaniacs on coney island charge a fee to swallowing a flaming sword, the cabbages smooth their leaves.
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