And on and on and on...

Because in every ending lies a beginning.

Creating havoc, out of what was once...

Deny me these licenses, and have thy vices put on, bitch-slapped for money. Like a mistress, vomiting secrets.

Eventually, you'll do it on command. You'll do it subconsciously.
Where does a flurry come from? I summon them from my God, while yours eats potato chips.
I'm feeling confident, son. Not cause I knocked you the fuck out
but because I didn't have to.

Feeling calm, too, focused like a wind
without a face over which to fret; without money to spend or hours to justify to
you or your pimp
you or your tears
you or your pulse
which I hear when

Guilty, impregnated by a dirty, dripping dick that follows prisoners such as myself as though we were sluts.

However, now, in this light,

I am free;
and now is a moment on which afterlives are delivered
(Reality is so "REAL" under these conditions,
it shatters my perception of it as something

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