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Fornication Upon Consent of the King
Tainted sickling. Suckling feeder, yes, You; that high esteem, your pitiful narcissistic indulgence, i beg you thrust toward your becoming blade; impale yourself, slowly but ne’r to die upon it directly. Thus, that I might enjoy your pain, again, shall mine transform to beauty in that wake.
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Semanticrypt
I can’t stop Speaking in riddles I can’t stop Thinking in rhymes
About
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