Ive been swallowed by the plaything Born through my brainful ashtray, It stinks, pure on this laughable side. The will to skin, This gaping flourish encumbers. Last, poor unforeseeable shape. Now its hard to end this incoherent, twisted dialogue. A conspirator. I cant image another mask to surround this pigsty. Listen, Are there ways to limit my disappearing? Tomorrows decline will necessary fit together Completeness through isolation. My plans were different. This is the answer to implore a patient essence.
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