Seattle

Slow down kids, you’re growing up too fast. This isn’t a race to see who can fuck their mind faster, but if it is, take if from the tortoise, you’ve got plenty of time to concentrate on concentrations of medications, and in no time you’ll have prescriptions for prescriptions and will be scripted in your predisposition to prepare prepositions in certain situations. Trade in your ne(on) because it’s a turn off, warm colors are now cool, and recognize that the base of this bass is basically the basis of free basing, and you’re better than that. There’s been a new development that if you’re still enveloped in involvements in fluorescents, you must have graduated perhaps not from high school, but at least from your training bra.

Their eyes roll back in their heads, but they’re still swaying with the devil’s undulations. As a certified cadaver spelunker, I distended the black holes swallowing one boy’s iris, wriggled in with both arms up, pinched my size 7 shoes inside, and stood upright in the hollow cavern encased in this corpse of a child and created my own beats in his head. I prodded around and wondered where his mind has gone, lifted up every unturned rock (song), rattled all of the basses, banged on his ear drums, and snapped on the light of his own glow stick wand to carry on testing each of his nerve endings. It appears we have a shell of a young man, bring in a mortician because I’ve found his brain and it’s dead, starved from the appetite lost on drug induction. He’s dined on his own apple, mistaken for a blood orange for his blood has turned to orange as any alien on these pills hunting for healing would.

Let this be a lesson, Seattle. You’re harbor to many commodities, including an impressive population of impressionables. Waving farewell to sea farers is only practice for coming forecasts of your adolescents encountering turbulence in these environments of epileptic provocation.

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