(AppreCJ8n, 0.56-0.99: Lastliceline)
be i love Ceejay. And that is all i had ta write
that i used ta feel i never used ta feel. Felt the weirdest
most unwanted of anythings, run out of life, run out on by life,
run out of life population life, anything but
textbook human, lesslovable than a minjy muggle.
But Yo' 'bliterated my leaky spleen better, You doubted
i was wholly shit, thus my hurt hate, my baleful selfbailing selfdoubt
were for the firsttime unreal doubt when We doubted they were all there was ta me.
I'll require o an infinity of the same sanative Love ta lightheadedly lice thru,
compose 'appreCeejaytâ…¡on' - You'll have had a gutful of time bythetime You'd
viewed further smoo-
thies' throes of scandalicely flannel poetry from Your william wheetwhoosworth.
So ta mitigate this
drain on the brookish lookers, waterskin eyes of my Muse,
and the mutual braindrain upon Wetwo, i'll concisely prophesy,
tho' n'est pas grand-chose, coz part two'd amountt'a mint spit
of the message someone who could read would on page one of this one
massage outta the zeroes and twos and topless secrets
inmy cram o'flage. No intepretango of intepretouchin' up
's needed, i'll show the steps:
another the samejust one jihoosive
thankYou i love You.