It’s like to be called to give an honest account? I wonder? I look around as people edit their own truth down watered. Cloaked over. Deluded. Delusions like tea leaves brewing. A distillate. Impotent. Of sustenance to procreate. Hear me now.
I’ve hooked your asses proper. After being hit by a spider. Now acting my new part yet reversed. I’m untying dear myself. After I trapping to show ya all the way out hoodini style.
No editing allowed.