a gloom for children outcast

disaster tree, in that oar calmed by future descendents. He has housed that collected remembrance. I’m sorry, I iterate he because I’m currently buying into that he of sheep skin. As one of the other faces, he turns to the awkward enjoyment of her fantasy. The insult is reckoned to be too far from excused.

the calming bitterness of a bank fold in reluctant pierce and chiming quietude stutter. Should I say more about the mask he is wearing? By all irrational disclosure, he is about to leave two cents by the dresser drawer. Should we wear the same mask? He knows me better. It had not made an isolating attempt, but the flow of dressers was a scoff. So, to choke him, we will commit astronomical suicide by the refrigerator as to close the curtain on this death.

in memoriam, blank slate.

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