Awash

I’m awash with myself. I ooze out of every pore. The very body is composed of parts of me in various lumps and dilutions.

I cannot help but help this fruit to flow. This prose. This effulgent effluence. I won’t stop it, nor do I wish to.

Embrace me or throw me away. It matters not. Only accept this: that I am me and will express myself so.

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