What if we were maybe trying to trip ourselves out with overbearing OCD? What if we went and achieved utter effing chaOs actually; they didn’t really achieve anything except for absolutely EVERYTHING Indeed… inside of their amalgamated heads. “She’s
A reckoning of her own wAyWaRd steed and he breathes in EqUaLly bombastic meaSUREment anyway.” What were we ever even thinking when it all started at crawling of its own
ocD accord. One clUsTeR-fUCk of word: “way-UP-wHERE, though!?!” With her ticker-tape despair, she’s being cordial anyway because she has to —-
End-up at the bottom of her bed yet again and waiting… “on these ever-telling MisTaKes. To take fUCkSaKe~shape.” And if there is a thread, then she’s taken it to the end of its
tether = “and thrashed-it-out til MirAcuLouSlY threading it ALL BACK TOGETHER(..)” Only minus about ninety-percent of her readied awareness
