Disintegration (WHISPERS SCREAMED) Of My Final Cell – Wrapped In Words

Providence of a stolen minute given to false musings that reflect an accidental yearning (AN ACCIDENTAL YEARNING!) forcing oneself to repeat a moment again and again, gratifying the selfless ness of the moment with a wickedly soiled ginger thrust sharply between wanting parts, seeping with sin of self, back arched, muscles taut, teeth clenched as the finger digs deeper into the fire that will not lay dormant, resistance is futile (FUTILE!) resistance is an undesirable reaction to a moment on ones own hand…

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