your hope collapsed like a burning orphanage under the
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weight of their expectations it must seem routine for
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you now snowing in their spit languishing in their
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refuse a human/virus a victim of disease called
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circumstance their real faces are the faces of disgust
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the only kind you see from down here here there is no
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healing only the slowing of decay i've heard they
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still smile in their world perhaps you will go there
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someday and destroy their happiness
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|
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|
Pentassam Constellation
|
| Agoraphobic Nosebleed |
