And she dropped down, laying half-crippled at the bottom of the barrel, Wings momentarily clipped, vision skewed through the fog of clutter. Today I'll be the hero. I'll push aside hygiene for you, just to feel the stale warmth of your plasticity on my fingertips again; to hold tight and clench tighter to the unforgiving beat of your siren song. I promise you'll make your connection once more, able to latch firm to the six decayed pages of a long-feared novel of hymns. I'll save you.
Through the dust and congealing semen to my princess at the speed of vibrant pink.
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