A B O V E. A L L. O T H E R. T R E E S. SECOND2nun
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You are the vestibule of a peculiar yesteryear. You are the housing unit for the mastodons of having fun. You smell of rotten bliss saturated with a concrete kiss. And I am wanted filaments insisting on a thrill a minute. âš¡âš¡âš¡
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heres a poem for a dead sunflower —I dont care about your grammar saggy! Keep youre chins up teehee haha L8er