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bed somehow. I never see them go under. Private. They have a reason, I know. Beach towels smell bad without washing, drying takes place in fruit baskets.


        A hung feeling, strident, casual remarks designed to murder. Taking a cooking class to learn the most economical way to poison my family. It should be trigger-saving too. And would hopefully not involve a hot stove all day. There are ways there are ways. I am trying to learn. Such as feeding them my own throw0up and saying it's a tuna casserole.


        Plummets -- I don't know what they hell they are. Why must everyone talk about plummets? The wheel barrows I sit in during autumn or the curtains hung become dirty, I see cute fairies residing on them. Fat little cheeks dovetail hairdos, the wings on their backs keep them in the air. Flitter, flitter, swiftly they flutter back and forth. One winks at me. I think it's a 'he'. Maybe not. They fly.


        Almost choreographed.


        I try to catch one, they are too swift. They know I mean no harm to them. If I would catch one, I would not put it down the disposal. 


        Though it would be fun. 


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