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carnival adoration i plead with my hands wringing the blood out of some dirty articles of laundry that read with headlines like "abortion takes the meat and the money: will the world still go round?" who the fuck cares! aren't we sick of spinning yet and its obvious i am not dizzy enough because you still don't look pretty (at all). i can't climb underneath the covers next to you. let me get one more around in or maybe more. and you don't care, you hate yourself as much as i hate you. its nauseating standing wide-eyed in front of you. its okay when we are spun and our vision is out of place. altered a bit, your face rearranged in smears and i can deal with that. i can love you a lot i can tell. you trip out so well. distortion is a bitch a beautiful bitch and i want to do you, her, whoever this malfunctioned perfection is that you have become every time i close my eyes and let you put your hands on me, turning me round and round fast as you can. every time i let my lids slip open after the spin you are so fucking gorgeous i pull you by the hair until your mouth and mine are touching and we are swapping saliva like its you i adore.
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