The Gorge not

the titles are things that chase me down hallways speaking to themselves. if you find me mumbling ungraciously to myself anywhere hopefully I am wearing a hat! tip yours with homeless ease and I’ll me mine back. honestly greatful and thankful for any assurances.

probably better at titles than the stormy story underneath which goes off in search of The Gorge, as is its ponderous duty creepy with lusts for busting out of nooses hanging devouresome at altars mythics that slave after high high peaks and holy hell where beget the kiss at doors of heavens great infinitely ruling fists of love and sorrows, with hatred and lust enveloping hordes and spears of heartbreak that capture my stupidity with remarkable loss from proud suicide.

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