You Are The Dead

And here in my hand I see this knife; the blood I believe is my own.

Explicit paths to the fore and beyond, intractably damning all, I succumb. And here’s where I get to do some really cool shit.

He was handing out noses, and I said, “Get fucked, shit-heal. I got no time for you.”

Ah, good times. I’ll wipe this tear from my eye later.

Eric Blair, who wrote as George Orwell, wrote 1984, and you didn’t.

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