A whizzing movement, half a bloody life lapsed, jabs it again with a jeering smirk. Ouch, the whiff of tantrum, this needless spasm, electrifies it again hard but less moved. Such tart sensation doesn't make a sense at all now, numbed and drifting... Those countless wisps of ill memories like a cluttered heap, rubble of yonder anarchy now irrevocably intertwined with the present numbness, the stultifying coop indolently decadent--self-betrayal is the real depravity. But it lives. An inflated entity!
A rhapsodizing righteous motive, keep it vivaciously defiant to a creeping vacuity, the betrayer who lets it be plundered, impoverished... A sustainable robust plan of action is needed but not a grandiose one. Let it live to your utmost satisfaction not like a loser as this drifter! The sooner, the better! When you move, you do something! A meaningful breath!
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