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do you have a question?
I am the lost problem, the snared fox frightened by gunshots off the highway, I smell of dope…apparently, I don’t I’m full of atrovent inhalers without my name on the label. I’m abused, confused, attacked. I’m shot I’m done with shooting, I’m not.
I slink in through the front door, hiding my blood stained hands, the stink of chemical breath off my lips is about all I can stand. I’m supposed to grow up, forget, but I can’t. I’m stuck, I’m struck, I’m tough, I’m not.
I read in the mercury just yesterday on page three, that I’m in the 2% that have paid pure service to the boys at the rank 60 grand, 10 months, I’m trapped, I’m thanked, I’m an angel only because they can’t pronounce my name. I”ve got a gat colt rail then I got three more, 92fs and a m4, thats the deal
I don’t want to sleep I want to just feel
Alive I hide hundreds and punctures
My uri Gellar shelf is a montage
Monarchist injunctures
Whilst the sirens gradually yell
I sleep in discomfort,

I;ve lost 4 paragraphs to space , salo in seconds, I played with the thought last night, inferno on my arms, lost all my charms to this cheap thrill, so not cheap so not lost, so not thrilled

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