Ire

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It was never in the cards really.

That poor sod of a man making an announcement of pure embarrassment and nothing to show for it, crumbling deep down inside. Shamed and half-awakened at the dead of night at the thought of a wandering trapeze made mockery of himself, sorely mistaken; eternally perplexed; forever bent and broken, where brokenness was never even hinted a question, a point of contention, or a manifestation from a headlong twirl, forever will be lost in the heat of it all.

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