by smealek

Strum music of bitter sweets, such as the chocolate messily melted on the insides of your cheeks with all the slime covering the vocal strings. It was so sweet, but now it is disgusting just like the pleasured seed that spilled after a good night ruckus. What was the reason of it to start with? Sure, it was a fantastic treat, and boy, was it nostalgic, but now it is just a scarring of the palette. Wipe that tongue, it is time to spoil the tastebuds with a brand new sin: perhaps something a bit more sweet to spoil the teeth; perhaps something that will itch the skin. Let it rinse and repeat, soil everything inside of the body—soiled again, nice and dirty—this instance feels like the crawling infant. Dirty with glory! Hahahaha, how brilliant and still the child crawls towards this infinite purposelessness. What is the motive? What!? Is it trying to learn something? To crawl to walk, and then to stand, and read, and find shelter, and make a family, and to just rinse and repeat with a new little toilet hugger on the way? It will just dispel the same jargon all over again, and it will be flushed down that hollowed seat. See, there is nothing unique here.

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