This split stick fucksicle... there it goes again, circling the drain...creating a distraction, truth in obfuscation... and, amongst it all, throughout the fall, there it holds, a heavy shadow tugging at her will, distended from an unearthed and then uprooted olive branch...to remain in stasis, and display the prophetic delusions of subversive prophets...who never seem to promote such blatant exhibitionism