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Multiple Schizosis

It's quite intricate to find even a single metaphor for this dumb boy's severe psychotic behavior. Or at least how this boy used to impersonate his own persona. His mere name is, or was, indescribably pretentious. His lame actions were damnable just as his lame proclamations were. It was so effortless of him to capture any gullible gobbledygook's attention but one time, unknown inter-universal forces conferred to fracture his earthly teases. It was an opportunity for him to metamorphose his schizoic deeds.

He tried. He faked. He lied. He tried. He persuaded. He lied. And, he, yes he did, failed.

It's the only routine he knew. Seeking attention. Preying for victims. Spying on someone else's Achilles' spot. Never mind the outwardly physique, it is the true psyche that matters most. And for that, he plainly lost. He will never get rid of his own murky shadows.

And so they say that hatred is only a manifestation of guilt, or maybe, disillusion. In this scenario, there's no room for the mentioned abstractions. This perfect situation was bound to be false; it was fabricated to be complicated. And etceterae. Narration in the past tense, hopefully, shall expunge unintended charades and masquerades that were only unmeant into a vast hole of forgetfulness. No more dream infestations. No more reality confrontations.

Say so long to your putrid schlong.

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Eяin Heяoin

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Multiple Schizosis

It's quite intricate to find even a single metaphor for this dumb boy's severe psychotic behavior. Or at least how this boy used to impersonate his own persona. His mere name is, or was, indescribably pretentious. His lame actions were damnable just as his lame proclamations were. It was so effortless of him to capture any gullible gobbledygook's attention but one time, unknown inter-universal forces conferred to fracture his earthly teases. It was an opportunity for him to metamorphose his schizoic deeds.

He tried. He faked. He lied. He tried. He persuaded. He lied. And, he, yes he did, failed.

It's the only routine he knew. Seeking attention. Preying for victims. Spying on someone else's Achilles' spot. Never mind the outwardly physique, it is the true psyche that matters most. And for that, he plainly lost. He will never get rid of his own murky shadows.

And so they say that hatred is only a manifestation of guilt, or maybe, disillusion. In this scenario, there's no room for the mentioned abstractions. This perfect situation was bound to be false; it was fabricated to be complicated. And etceterae. Narration in the past tense, hopefully, shall expunge unintended charades and masquerades that were only unmeant into a vast hole of forgetfulness. No more dream infestations. No more reality confrontations.

Say so long to your putrid schlong.

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