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You did this to yourself and not in any sort of indirect way. You asked for it… explicitly. So any tinge of regret you feel is yours alone to bear as a heretic would hold the weight of sin. You question eternity spread eagle, bound at each ankle, each wrist, your mind. Is there a god? Are *You* God? The intensity rises and your lucidity flees before you are dragged away yet again into a puddle of an existence. The splashing and hum become a hymn in your honor. All praise to you too… good girl i
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poetryerotica
