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Nine-Hundred Ninety-Nine Ouroboros

Another death wish, another hazardous occupation.
Caution is the herald of illness. And illness
Is the harbinger of another plate of flesh.
Rot and disease.
Another plate of fruit. Flies burrow in, and I realize yet again
She wishes to die. Running to the edge
Not for the benefit of others but to
Find an escape from the horrors of humanity.
I cannot blame her. We all have our secrets.

"Opiate of the masses" is a phrase I find funny.
Most people, when discussing this, refer to
Oxycodone, a narcotic with high risk for addiction and abuse
Due to its nature. But you see,
If it were advertised correctly, and given in only necessary doses, it
Would have been fine. The only reason it exploded was
Out of greed.
The flower, however, is not to blame.
The opiate of the masses is manufactured for insurance laundry.

It's true, you know. The recipe you swear on
Gave me colic for the better half of a week.
The mass growing above someone's trachea is
A skin tag under the flabby flesh of the arm to another.
There are differences in all of us. We cover more that way.

Escape is more difficult with more people.
More to compensate for. Especially the young ones,
They don't understand, and if you're
Young yourself, you don't have the skills to care for them.
A world where the true evil is the adults who
Allowed this to happen is a world that
Living is rebellion in.

Emergency is the remedy to the cautious.
Tragedy is the cure to the reckless.
And freedom is the solution to the caged.