happiness hit her like a train on a track.
coming towards her, stuck still no turning back.
she hid around corners and she hid under beds.
she killed it with kisses and from it she fled
with every bubble she sank with a drink
and washed it away down the kitchen sink
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Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats. - H. L. Mencken
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