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| tuesdays spittle, fallin off my chin into the coffee cup. splash. we wade through the tireless SUV rampage like what left and right lanes closed do to traffic do to my commute. | |
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| Puff puff. My lungs filled with the flavor of cancer on a partially dry tongue. Teeth caked with tar, we know who you are, and these countless cats are singin'. | |
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| Subliminal messaging, empty like my cereal wastebasket. | |
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