they complain for uncouth relations in that
misunspoken realm. To flesh what has
no life; Nay, it must be treated as one
dead and wielded without ethical
pangs. Their smiles give excuse to
nonymity and truncated desires foolishly
sought after. The stitches are bound too
tight and the fabric is inevitably deformed
as nonpurposeful acceptance of failure.
Excuses must never be uttered, only
chitter, chitter, chittered. Their noise
is maddening.
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