Face In The Porridge Comments

Half witted beast be thou forgotten, cast in the spiraling circumference of infinite churns. Your belly rolls while your blood boils. Thy will be done one might ponder in a fading moment entrenched with gutless thoughts.

A bottle of wine, a flask of whiskey, several sips of rum perhaps. Wilt thou now be back in the ruby waters dining with the sharks again. I dare say, the whales with their fat bellies will come sauntering in.
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