Because it’s whether I trust the product. Relapse. Benefits. Features.
Hell is subjective on a weekend. This time with tongue. And finally,
who makes it? This says I’m desirable. My scent is a tribe. Complex
flourishes. Accidents. Plastic. Conspicuous attempts. Welcome
to my brilliant mental basement disappointment. Whoa logic.
Fell into the cicadas. With a tremendous advantage over those
who don’t. There are no dull moments. Moot. Liquid. Courage.
My shrinking psychic distance. Kissing wild ordinary charismatics.
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