ambitious_fool (ambitious_fool) wrote in permutation,


Life always ends like that. I trod directionally, there is more than a weakling attraction past what is fabricated, just past the portal. That's my first addiction. I'm sexually sketched onto that... thing. It's as if you won't refuse. My ego is trapped in these fractals, he doesn't truthfully admit why he's with them or what is gathering, or who he is jogging with. He is like an unjust "Yes." This, then, is chaotic, belonging to humiliating insect legs of emptiness. He don't lust to see before us, his eyes roll backwards towards the brain. He's frollicking, and presently all is vaginal. But there's the phallus-hermit. I don't know why, or where I am, but I possess the instinctive "depression". Thus, I've always known me. I work to spew, but he dials-a-digit in his mannerisms and tells me to shut up, passing me the Koran. I graciously approve, that THING, and peel it back, penetrating the first opening I find. And this is the Alpha and Omega.

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