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■ Escapism
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dancing kangaroos
wooden tables on rotten cigarette buds i think i ought to empty my stomach content i’d rather bury the prancing squirrels in little coffins of led to let all the wonderful dreams sink away to unknown depths just remembered what used to make us happy crawling snails i pick them up & crush the cozy cocoon to mild flesh cold & wet at the same time despair ending what little is left.
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