I have to recognize that my humble words stink as hell. It looks that there is someone killing my salvation each time I dream about the hectic consequences of being intellectually inefficient. I make inefficiency look like something attractive. My voice hurts my words and my chest explodes the pavement. And they don't understand. They will never understand and neither will I. I'm going to find things that I can dream. I'll pick your suggestions: dreams about the awkwardness of identity analysis capitulation.
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