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Oct 2020
You can’t not see like I can’t escape my vision
How many cells your body have? my personal prison, no schism
People grow old, simultaneously imagine grown limits
Stationary is the go-get-it
They bullshittin, the faux-witnesses
The materialists the fools gold riches equipped
They know it’s it is
The Truth roll friction with wits
Written by
jacob charles
44
 
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