Like twisted intestines.
Like after having a big, unforbidden meal.
After running and panting in the name of fitness.
As one walks the lanes and highways of memories.
Do you get this God-forsaken don't get no satisfaction feeling.
Thanks, Rolling Stones, that's the song you left us deniers, hippies, revolutionaries, the Gen X'ers and digital babies. It spans decades, just like your band members.
Look how and what people have become?
From playful to placid to platitudinous?
It reeks of guilt, of self inquisition, of juvenile posturings.
Us can be curled, bound, twisted, unraveling, unforeseen future and decayed past.
No moons, no sun.
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