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Comments about Justin Jackson
Apparently, We can feel them in our collected spines.
Paranoid, It is how these odd things enter my mind.
I reach inside but I can't touch It, The place I tried to control.
It once was intricately rooted, a vast place where I used to go.
What stinging moves placed on me, the cunning of the four old men.
Who did things I've not yet seen, I fear to know of what they did.
As their hair grows, while bodies decompose, leaving fragments of what once was:
All lights on, no ones watching you...whatever makes you comfortable dear.
Intruding thoughts, the old men's ...