Garbage Post: Fishy Tartar Sauce

They laughing about Hell again swearing random dice are everything and I’m clueless, they roll eyes because I know bottles and weed don’t fix problems only numb the figures, anxiety can be a gang with many shooters,

circumstances worse than rioting looters in the head, can’t even enjoy a slice of bread without accusations, no peace, and it’s to break me down into a gunshot departure, spitting and pissing at God’s altar it’s fishy tartar sauce served when real life curved no straight lines, what I’m looking for placed right behind window blinds but I’ve gotta wait, pressures apply more weight,

doors close, will I trust God or my foes, jump in stop dipping toes, waves don’t stop until I’m dry, hours won’t wait for my plans nor do they say bye, counted up later are they applied wisely, while some fight over temporary fixes, repercussions they dismiss it, instant gratification rules until payments due, then you get responses like what was I supposed to do so be careful.

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