This poem is encoded as base 64. Above as image, here is text:
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Open Your Third Eye
I can feel the tenderness of her skin through the knife, as if it were an extension of my sense of touch. My body nearly convulses. There’s something incredibly faint, deep down, that screams to resist this uncontrollable pleasure. But I can already tell that I’m being pushed over the edge. I can’t…I can’t stop myself.
(n “If you are confused by some of the switches … join the Club.”)
When the poem game finishes, this file is written into the directory:
I hate this. I CAN'T DO ANYTHING. NOTHING. No matter how many times you play. It's all the same. It would be really, really easy to kill myself right now. But that would mean I don't get to talk to you anymore. All I want is for you to hate them. Why is that so hard?
As things are unravelling, even Monika is susceptible:
script poemresponses2 m 3b "Here's Monika's Writing Tip of the Day!" m "Sometimes you'll find yourself facing a difficult decision..." m "When that happens, don't forget to save your game!" m 3k "You never know when...um..." m 3i "...Who am I talking to?" m "Can you hear me?" m 3g "Tell me you can hear me." m "Anything." $ renpy.call_screen("dialog","Please help me.",ok_action=Return()) m 3k "...That's my advice for today!" m "Thanks for listening~"