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CHANNELSchannels penetrated into my bedroomwhile I was asleepthe anchors searched into my library and shelvesdisappointed, they tried to enter into my cell phonethey went on searching how screeches emanate from invisible hoodswho sleeps on my bed, my self or my substitute?they smoked their brains to have an answe. somewhere along my slumber lashes, is there a glimmering of the eyes? is snoring possible after a love-packed shred of time? they photographed the dances of the wind outsideon my flowery treesthe channels that were not ready to go away without any scooptook the snow book I left reading on my chestthey decided upon broadcasting the music emerging after snow melts.in the hot seasons when cool and water were impossible they were seeking an entrance to my heart. May 18 delete
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