Corn has infiltrated the fortress of my human waste.
Alien emotions explode in my chest like sun spots.
Ben was no more a rat than the man who sells me danishes.
Binge killing is known as extermination in some circles.
Apparently I pissed myself while writing the last line.
God damn, these corduroys are dry clean only.
Enough of the self-exploration. There are larger things.
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