Rated for Teens(13+)
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The Flourescents

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Standing at the edge of everlasting anesthesia, unbound by the laws
of Neanderthals’ and mortal men, shedding the cord of echoes grasping
the soul. A singular blue vein glowed in the dust motes dancing beneath
the fluorescents, pulsing in time, of the pendulum swinging, smelling
of ozone and bitter caffeine against the peeling pain hammering the soul
unwrapping the blue vein colder than moonlight, tasting the
scent of stitches held beneath the fluorescents.
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