An amalgamation of sweet sickly surrogate-d nothingness and the noise is surround-sound magnificental
Rather transcendental, mental til made-up maleficent and these people stand at face-value, while their pioneering commandeer steers the livid reaction swarmed and formed within We.
Are imperfect people with self-inflicted glass jawbones – prone to prey-pretend pl-ease ease it in through We, so fucking subtly as we see ferociously fit  

“I am Jack’s Cold Sweat”
“I am Jack’s Complete Lack of Surprise”
“I am Jack’s Inflamed Sense of Rejection”

With our belly fat saturated and caught and recaptured – all of this musclebound territory knows one rule – you DO NOT talk of Fight Club, and the second rule is to repeat the first, dearest people.
Purchase your very own bar of commercialised soap right round your very own cheekbones. Back by upside down demand. Cracking our bolstered backs to maybe make it happen – literally.
“I am Marla and I am Singing it from this Sweet Cigarette”

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