Stranded and a piece of shit. Tied to the floor somehow. Thoughts collecting across the walls. Projector screens surround thy consiousness. Drooling from pours. Secretion of sweat. Like the time and time again. In a powder: “crushed oflent.” Within one takes control of the vision. Lights and no lights now, but sound. And smell. Smells like yeongrak. Forever without directions, GPS app Quantum Natives stretches entirely. The mind bleeds like a brain under a warming lamp. Drink dah juices.
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