It flew.
Again.
In little or no time at all.
My temper.
Pointless justifying it.
I ache so when i type this.
My weakness, my fury.
I'm sorry.
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POCKET TISSUES: any of several kinds of soft gauzy papers used for cleansing purposes. Disposable thoughts, out of my system and onto paper. Can't be good if it stays in, anyway.
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