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3 - bad day
It's a bad year. Wedged between the past and the future, pollaxed hache body to soul. A sour season. Short fiber wired, mono-filament that slices flesh, gnawing bone, wrapped tight around my waist. Maelstrom month. Hormonal blood-red clouds dim the sun and blot the light from the sky. Rotten day once again, telling me it isn't going to be different thought the furniture has changed. |
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