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The Writing of the Fits
my parents even unbeknown to this :
'normally' never recall my dreams
but lately this nigger's thin skin
layered over a rotting cat's milk bowl
or a bucket of asylum spew
now rips me some haunted memories
every hocus ever released
as hysterical pimples
disfigured excma and
convoluted boils all
overindulgent in their pussiness
- and goodness lies underneath! -
my belly growls 
like dog fighting
until i vomit whereby
yellow foam
and seaweed
come out of my mouth
feathers fill
the air with such a stench
they have to be burnt
my body bloated
as if about to burst
with a madman's penchant
for expression
with a paedophile's lust
for life

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