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heís just another suicide case, really itís nothing to worry about mindful relapses to yester-years yesterday. angel halo stuffed up my ass. would you have ever guessed it if he wouldnít have licked it? delusions of grandeur forgot their make up. allowing the haggard minutes to form stocks in wasted hours. flat landscape profiles his flat-lined brain. knowing this is the final show where the sunrise opens itís fingers, singing show tunes of disintegration. darkening the whites of his eyes over raw marrow breakfasts.
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