I found this one again today...seems like I was trying rhyming this time.
Twitching muscles, throbbing skull,
to me it matters not at all,
the billowed husk is but a chore,
as chaos falls upon my shore,
for nothing ever follows suit,
when one tangles up with swollen truths,
that luck would wind up in my hand,
then I shall make my stubborn stand.
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