Here's why gender is wrong: I can look at my arm for 45 minutes straight, I can pass out on beer.
Please spare me the grimey sense. Blah, I've lost. Death, bus rides, Stalingrad. Imagination is a waste of time. The circuits of lust, gymnast stretch.
Ich haben.
Plugged in to the mistake, a dreary dream sheet over my head like a ghost costume. A martyr hullabaloo. My pretty words fallen.
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