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The Fakester Genocide

my lover lived somewhere over the sea until the day that she died. she was wiped out in 2003’s fakester genocide. i try not to miss her. she could have been a he. trust disappears as the world grows in size but everything is possible. my lover lives in a town full of hope where nobody is miserable and nobody lies. put down your drugs, close your tired eyes, fly through the air with the greatest of ease. there’s a kid in japan likes the same films as me. we’re doing lunch today, i’ll be back for tea. i travel to survive. there is nothing to keep me here. but if every country is basically the same where does that leave all the glorious escape routes? i lie about loneliness, try to stay sane by reaching through cables for something like heaven or something like love. what can i do here? i miss you like crazy, miss the earth’s surface stretched out before me. i’m in the ocean, my plane has come down, but there are always rafts, there are always voices: ‘fakester boy, don’t give up yet. swim for shore, you’re fine. they can’t kill us off quite so easily. trust us, she’s alive. you’ll find her in the unsaid words in sentences, in the spaces between strangers on trains. you’ll find her between reels at the cinema. she’ll love you, keep you safe.

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