Nothing is original
Recycle that which has rotted and feed it in pieces to the visionless mass
What has flourished today is withered by sunset
Canned to feed
When the pale reality of life decides to hand you your own
You spit in her weathered face
Demanding more, then more, and then more
Callously
Just a sorry reflection now
Of an overstuffed, and flooded body
Suffocated by endless debauchery
Wanting to breathe a little more, then more, and then more
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