I feel. It's a revolution in two words. Who's going to admit it, in this day and page? Validation shakes yokes, prevents over easy moments. Scrambled dregs are ready for the cup: coffee leaves can't read me like I can. Great pain is already a formal feeling– a collar buttoned to the top with unsafe pins. Typistry covers the walls of this uncertain mind wordsnacks can't feel the hungry solitude stuck to the bottom of my shoes no matter how many steps press lonely gum home.