Another prose poem.

Bulging tendons feel nice and sore. I am not sad anymore. Working out the kinks and not puking in the sink. I will burn through this noose, spit on the gun and smother the cigarette. Hope you follow in the feel good stream. We all are the same connected in the brain. If you push away your only gonna regret what you say. Reddish matter works the way it should so why do people break the wood they knock on if it makes life smoother. Life is half heaven and hell, so tell the demons to f— off, and pray to the angles that they bake some cookies.

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