A gnawing, groaning, pain, etching towards nirvana.
All the good ones are taken up the tree and sodomized. Molested. Destroyed. By me and above me, below you. Come away with me.
Divine.
Alone. Trite and complacent. Trying to be, at least. Trite not tripe.
Thimbles were thumbnails' crowns.
Fear is the great drive towards stagnancy. Fear will get you nothing.
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