by Matthew Tonks

My Hate Filled Rant Was Like Fists Hitting Your Face

Cross pollination of a sickness rooted in the core of everything I am, your pathetic existence is nothing more than a momentarily absent minute of my time, for the rottenness that pumps through my veins hungers for your taste, vile witness you will be, an ending void of emotion for the world will not mourn a loss such as you…

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