if i shrug off sound and slither into a meaning devoid of confusion what illusions will be lost what senses will be tossed beyond the typical five and can we all thrive together and on without some pretending neverending circumstance to trance you out to doubt your meaning leaning hard on the line breaks when they appear here
and there unaware of situational anxiety propogated by such hesitated-over syllables i am wondering about journals about dreams how scenes seem to be sensitized digified my dishes are clean if you're wondering but all i will do is eat all i will walk on is feet and to be more specific my own with bare nails stalled out in hibernation there is another situation i have no boxes i have too many clocks and not enough time
if i work and work out and flout sleeping in will i grown thin in sense will i be pleased will i feel ill at ease into a race there is no point in winning will i grin steadily in a painted style where have all the sweaters gone and why is the crocodile so pleased
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