“Corpuscle” Dial home, touch-tone phone. Ringing ring, all alone. Phonograph, grooving need, il·lic·it tracks and marks doth bleed. Scratch the itch, manic twitch. Sigh. Approaching the event horizon, constitutes a loss of self, and entails complete consciousness of that loss. At least, theoretically….
“Y’all gon make me lose my mind” We are aggrieved. The green of envy, the green of greed. Agreed? Guise of god. Calamity. Belief, despite proof contrary. Fascinating, fading street. Continual day’s defeats. I entreat, you… Think! Critically. It has never been like this….
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And just like that she built the Queendom she always wanted.
Tumse na ho payega
Me.. Era !