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We are often considered thoughtless
Unintelligent forms of our immediate past
Viewed as corruptions on the brink
Fame persecuting the syllables of our words
Floating fires seeping into our estates
A fierce wind blows through
Our penthouses
And the maid closes the window
It is merely useless
And yet so entrancing that a push in
Our direction of any constructiveness
Would leave us breathless
And perplexed



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by wishmeawayx





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