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we sin. we are the sin itself.
(“
for every filthy form of us were to rot,” it was said with a gravely certitude. or was it not?)
there’ll only be a single absolute—no matter where do you waste your foul: you are a product of what maggots would feed on.
@ROTSLIP. sanctuary. or a mortuary? (not a choice you should decide, people say.) a complex stagnancy you won’t find in any other burial yard—it will seek you before you do. as per this death note reaches you, it ordains for your presence. (
“you simply qualify; wordsmiths, profile-needs, namefinders specialists. behold!” it sounded like words just scram from their mouths.) gouge out your own tomb?
@ebbedbot.
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