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written by Shyner Nybok
It's' punk' to' turn' off' the' lights' at' night', it's' not' revolutionary', it' saves' a' nights' energy'. You’re' screeching' turncoat' settling' nicely' into' a' fat' bath' of' warm' surprise' and' stringy' orange' floss'. Sightings' happen' every' night' for' a' labeling' scam' from' below', the' judgments’ of' the' animals'. This' is' when' it' reaches' up' from' the' farting' caves' and' grabs' it' by' ones' throat' sabotaging' a' reach' for' the' invisible' spectrum's' of' light'. Once' they' think' one' has' had' enough' they' leave' it' drained', rude' and' flailing'. Repressed' it' serves' ones' right', one' thinks' right' and' left' handed', the' chirality' of' ones' DNA' is' left' but' bowls' with' the' right'. Its' punk' to' turn' off' the' lights' at' night'. It's' revolutionary' to' be' robbed' the' pleasure' of' a' lawyers' fisting' arm'. She' thinks' with' her' head' but' bowls' with' her' right', crazed' and' scared'. Bags' of' cheer' and' burning' syrup' and' shaving' foam' constipated' wonder' climbing' flogging' perhaps' little' means' aware' signs' five' kites' dragonville' knox' culinary' hamburger' mergers' wandering' brown' cloud' worship' parsnip' holy' war'. And' the' fantasists' wait' to' sweep' it' up' like' a' weak' lamb' in' a' foggy' field'. The' degradation' of' mind' is' like' a' virus' ridden' memorial' powerpoint' presentation' projected' on' the' smoke' of' fireworks' in' the' park'. Running' so' hard' can' make' it' an' early' night', and' before' you' go' to' bed', it's' punk' to' turn' off' the' lights'. ''' ' ' ' ' '