Breaks from the Note-Taking

Or maybe this. In case you missed god’s diss, there’s a Hostage Taker rocking a classic Ruger (respect) making calls from my hijacked mind liminal mansion, and since the police stopped being interested once, she defused the need for gunplay. Now it’s Sunday plus one, and her rings echo, cut the face, and summon my efficiency layered in Rum breath while sharing the redrum mysteries. Blasphemous a thing like her with such a human trade. All I asked for comes from lakes or streams, speaking untoward to a warden with a noble cause. (What?!?) Not an answer to the flaws but her multiplier is only ignorable because her existence is in QUESTION.

Besides the ‘Other,’ from these notes, the discoveries I made between them may have forced perspectives of the awful narrative that conjure titles that I’m not always allowed to understand or lack the mystique me and the Hostage Taker have in common. (…Taker and I. Piece of shit.) A rarity to un-behold another clue; it comes time to be bold; otherwise, I’d suddenly discover an empty pill bottle waiting in my purgatory. Tools of the trade, I suppose.