wicked bad unvirtuous impatience.
i'll say she's not my fault, but the sentence barely comes to fruition before the truth slaps my tongue, insisting i retract (and clarify).
the extent to which you can blame the abused for pissing on the rug at the sight of a rubber hose . . . .
death to conditioning, life to envisioning: a call for re-visiting the quintessential experiential existence.
the tactile knowledge of what's been missing . . . .
Is still no excuse.
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