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Literature Text
Progression, progression, progression
You are no where near me yet I can feel your breath on my neck;
the moist mist of your putrid c02 evade my nostrils like mustard gas.
and all I can do, and will do
is look out the window at the passing cars, blurring like a vomited
Pablo Picasso conception.
It makes me sick so I close my eyes and focus on the
propulsion.
Progression.
Progression.
Progression.
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On moving forward and proceeding and such
I haven't posted literature in such a while! Been so busy with moving and
working. I have so many deviations to go through 0_0
If you want me to check something out specifically let me know!
I haven't posted literature in such a while! Been so busy with moving and
working. I have so many deviations to go through 0_0
If you want me to check something out specifically let me know!
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Comments13
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feeling of a "note to self" kind of progression. Different, good.