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Watch how they multiply with each breath that waits for cunning totals to subtract depth, while adding height to breathlessness.

Notice the changes, and never blink or it will happen before scrolls will surrender nothing from amazement.

Configured alignments of words that equal nothing without additions of reactions is the notation that unravels the unspoken quest to uproot the maze.

Round and round we go, hugging the end-of-day summations that are lower than when we never started.

Deep slumbers create perfect darkness to scramble what was built from scratch, for the thrill of designing what it was supposed to be, before invisible workers in suits that don’t read, distorted the shield of task makers.

Wordsmiths await final tallies as if the second coming arrives daily, and picks away at those who will never be saved.

Distribution is the section that toils the hardest, in the vacuum of secrecy that reveals so much when changes are made, and digits gain over assembled letter that need to be re-shuffled.

Perhaps the smudging of smiles and hearts with hearty laughs for good measure will boost engagement of characters, that get on much better than creators who need them most.

Instead, let’s champion perplexity with duality in the storm that gathers when numbering words become the total of what we never wanted from pages and systems of eyeballing.

Engineers tinker away to produce diminished worth of labor, like slave masters with chains of decreasing threshold, polluting spaces that look filled up to hide vacancies of emotions.

The games begin only when we start to play.

Written by

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!

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