At what point is “growing up” actual maturity? Is it when your worked to no-end? Can Costanza completely find adulthood when everything else but a full-time job is a blur? Or is it when children suck all the life from your mental force, leaving you a pile of slush others just walk-through and smile? Fatality through spinal-chord removal. All of the blood just leaking down upon your face. In a deli. That you once loved. Now your eternity. The grave you never though. BLT on a complete wound. Torn open. From behind. Like a gap that splits through America. Once called the Grand Canyon. Now just two long peaks of flesh where your back-bone once was placed. A trophy now. Glimmering in the light. Blisters of scathe. Infinity within a beaten youth. Dice, forever:
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