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Don’t the noises hurt your ears?

Or are your voices sweet?

I’m sorry you’re a crippled son.

No conscience so to speak.



Your pasty, dirty, bulging skin,

disgusting man worn thin.

Have your eyes denied your sight?

Can’t view yourself within?



So sad to see you’re scared to try

To be a man just once.

Deny your flailing self, to see.

How ugly you’ve become.



He eats the discards, files them, snide.

Your vulgar, empty skin.

Cheat yourself, then lie to hide

Poor Jeff will never win.

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