Twins

It's well past 11.

Now,
Resistence,

The communication
Is distraction.

Let's let twelve be inherent,
Step up the view.

How I feel fresh,
I feel new,

Nom de plume?

I'm revitilizing
The language,

Just fucking call me new,
What do you do?

____________________


It was like this:
Remembering the memory.

Red leaves are a visage,
My man,

My name:
Resistence.

The communication with spirit,
Then distraction.

Articulate cornucopia of distance,
Mars' malefic panacea of death,

Each year
New threads,

New trends,
Persona of the poster:

I'm a GHOST,
Entropy.

Noetic poetic steeping in apathy,
I always liked everything,

I mean, 
I always lied about everything.

But on a more serious note,
Wanna haruspicate some poetry?