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Consumption in the dead of nightLeft my eye twitching and itchingFor things in the shadowsOf my kitchen-livingGarage-thrivingGarden-tendingHome of a thousand spacesAll immune to the shouting and poutingOf pitter-patter on the doorstepAnd knocking at the doorScratching at my spacesTrying to alleviate the shadowsAnd kill my consumption-lustAlways beckoning at strange hoursIn front of strange facesMaking this small worldUn-livable for lovers caught ardentIn lonely placessexual desire or substance addiction? I'm not so sure.
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