Fib Notches

Go.
Now.
Please leave.
Take your bags.
And get the hell out.
Hold your deceptive little vocal chords at bay.
No breath you will vent through them has any meaning to me anymore.
You had about fifty-five chances counting yesterday, the day before that, the days before that, and even eight seconds ago.
Stop deluding yourself into thinking the world has an underlying pattern and order that will add up despite the stupid, sully things you seem to lie about over and over and over and over.

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Use your voice

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