please feed me hickeys to match the scratch mark scars you left with me; i love the lingering presents of the past and so i use them for future musings...
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it's amusing how much i bottle in, how much i stuff down just to try and make it all fit, how quickly it comes bursting out. and it might be impressive just how much the contents remain under pressure; but i've never been one to stay content with the complements of compliments, to contend and render the kind of shit that begins to cancel out trauma skits being replayed in my mind whenever i witness all of the fucking triggers...
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1. i'm bitter even though i masquerade as sweet.
2. i mask my residual negativity when i flitter around attempting to recompense the messes rendered by shattered egos.
3. i veto dogma and expect to replace the vacant space with divergent moral ideologies, internally consistent paradigms and frames of mind perfectly juxtaposed next to what's commonly considered normalcy.
4. when i'm feeling dejected i reflect proportionately the portions of people's personalities i peep and oscillate what i see needs to be amplified.
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i love when gray skies prompt the magnetized static and clouds to collude and dump thunder and precipitation, keeping access to the sun asunder and blockading its representation of willful ignorance to life's damning diligence.
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the second time i got lifted, i lost touch with the surface for a while; the comedown left me devoured by realities i'd tried to sweep under the rug since i was about 6. all that shit had come undone within minutes and left me fucking sick to my stomach and mulling alone in a cold room, starving for closeness and connections i eventually figured out were impossible to protrude...
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