you can hold back spring

expressionism

the sharp yellow light carves out faces like pulp, leaving something hollow behind.

I see a old men with nothing to do but stare at teenagers on the gin, their bare legs and neon socks, and at the asian woman with a mouth like a small flower. I still want the ride to last just one more song.

the cold air trickle down my neck as I climb out of highgate station, the large city vibrating beneath in scattered pools of light and interrupted sentences.

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