12 Stitches

Irreversibly debilitated by the redundancy in modern devolution. Is it all that all elucidation is so moronically clichéd that it has emerged as purely the folly of the sadist. Redemption is never a forlorn hope. The arduous inquest of whether we should help the chumps or mock them is disorientating, like waking up on a bathroom floor, the walls plastered in your blood. Triumph is readily achieved, its only a function of your own perception.