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Super Seeded Pereneal knobs that turn the sacred tomb. Moving forth the peer view window. Look into what they place into your head. Super seeded nonsense and no sounds. You travel on a bender. Bliss that is like a wisp that is turned over a gutted with one hundred eyes, a demon spawn. It shivers and shakes what you call a day. All that information locked inside a parasite of the poem, of your mind. Give me some space to organize my times. The years that I told myself were fine. Vote for this poem
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