Liars make my blood boil.

And I unfortunately have a special power to sense lies. Every time.


And I hate lies in art. In poems. In photography. In paintings.

I hate composition and organization of objects. Of words. I hate fake imagery. I hate rough drafts.

I am glad that I am able to hate now.

I am also going to name my posts weird because it is horrible to think of titles for poems and subject lines for letters. Subject lines are surely the invention of some twisted mind!

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