The Perfect End to a Beginning
Oh how it feels so towering to be alive today, but tomorrow I will wish that I had died yesterday, because during the eleventh hour the superstructures will collapse to ashes, and carving our wrists will seem to be the ace of alternatives as the virus will sweep through cities as the red musky mist will shed throughout skies as our beds are overturned, and our faces are planted on those pearl rosa aurora marble floors we were once so proud to show and tell and praise to a ceramic hell, Oh how we have grown so accustomed to technology as we lay on a bed of dead leaves and dirt; Starving ribs no longer displayed for sex and vanity, but for survival and sanity.
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