Persistent itch,

     Unmeant to scratch, At the skin's annotations simple nothings are crawling but the imagination's afflicted capacity, Mediocracy is the web in which we live. A fundamental alignment of wingless subservience to vampire ruling in the autocratic dark, Their mere echoes afflict our unmistakably bowed by the duress of homage to an unforgivable silent G-d; Bones, By which we make our discouraged means to unfortunately live... A point of infinite view to which we prescribe.

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