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granted....
but your art is that of a deepley tourtured soul, and your "artworks" often find themselves upon the bodys of murder victims.... your instanity grows, untill you could find no more perfect people to make into "art" so you turn on yourself... you become forgotten in the police files as the crazy person with a razor blade.
I wish I was more sucessful, better looking, funnier, richer, more talented, lived longer, smarter and a thousand times better than my childhood nemises.
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