

end of the linesomehwere id forgotten that the people that breath are rotten that the soul here suffers from drought without innards to bring outend of the line
hit the end of the line chipped away after time at the end of the line theres nothing mine
time here means nothing tho its borrowed im still here crying since theres no point at all in trying
a better truth is from lying at the end of the line theres nothing at the end of the line theres nohting nohtings worth the struggleor fighting and theres no post mordum ighting theres no rest to cese no


the slow social declinethere are animals, that when intimidated bury their heads in the sand. there are colours, in the skythe slow social decline
that are justified to such people there are places with traces, that rot people whole there are places in the tropics that should not be so cold there are faces that should not look so old
there are things in the air that there shouldnt be there are man-made virus' that cause disease there are cuts on wrists that we should let bleed and there are people in places that we should help feed
gluttony oh gluttony, how we all live like kings,  


break a manbreak a man often enough he wont feel a thing break the finger bones slide off the ringbreak a man
the branches of a hand cut off for firewood wouldnt give the feeling back even though i know i could
break enough of me i will proceed find the way to walk when the tide receeds
when this passes over when this passes over when this passes over i will be much older
worn and weathered worn and weathered worn and weathered worn and weathered
--
How do I inject dignity into the word help? - Illya Kuryakin
Member of ~poseraddicts
My Content Dealer for 3D....
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Death is like sunset, which is only an appearance.
For what is sunset here is sunrise beyond...
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Y I OTTA!
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