Weareneverwhoweare Posted November 4, 2022 Share Posted November 4, 2022 Close your mouth, lummox - you bygone pigment scraped from the easel of Monet's inept impression. Your roots are bastard raphanus bafflement cored in cerise grot, sogged penurious marshland cultured in spoor of lotus. I am the prized zenith, draped in rhodium, universe brain sharpened to the paragon, Da Vinci's true Vitruvian. My roots are anchors, tethered to Earendel - lauded, panegyrics for me recited by ministries and minstrels beyond eons. You are in sum to liquor puris putrid asides from fistula. I am E Pluribus Unum incarnate aisle of plenty. Lap my trotters, squalor. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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