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Elastic walls encompass my tiny maggot carbon. Nutrient farm ego compliments my expanding need relative to the cost of making any other baked good. I am a soldier… Find me unsavory! Grasped. Punching my way out of your restrictive intestine… Choking. Coughing. Spitting half digested shit around in a futile effort to disparage swimming pool sized monkeys from cannibalizing my soul. !Vive Escape! Blessed sanction represents nostalgia retroactive to my decisions. Any choice cultivates itself inside a womb of indifference because I fear being too close to a past I regret, regress, rape, and will inevitably return to. Respiratory mistakes. Breath in. Out… In. Out… Wear special stockings past midnight in order to glean spectral telemetry… No pressure though… Fuck PSI.
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