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Innards twist like salt on a slug. Phlegm boils out of sundried orifices. Maggots find a fresh fancy feast. Once witnessing eyeballs turn to prunes. Flush turns pallid-- transparent. The fine line between has thus been crossed. We're dead now. Now is gone. All gone.
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Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 11:21 AM UTC
Fate
Innards twist like salt on a slug. Phlegm boils out of sundried orifices. Maggots find a fresh fancy feast. Once witnessing eyeballs turn to prunes. Flush turns pallid-- transparent. The fine line between has thus been crossed. We're dead now. Now is gone. All gone.
zach-claycomb
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Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 11:21 AM UTC
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