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by Wright
Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #2203755
At what cost?
My shoes run lite as my belly grows cold, the intruder shows rage as the runners shape unfolds. Let it be known thy who confront such damnation of sorrow, for he will be forthright under a wing of love tomorrow. Be able minded in the world of injection, the presence of the bitten will shed rotten. At last the taste of single thoughts forgotten, a wisdom of enchantment spoken so often. To fear the afraid is of little use, but to be hindered by objection can be diffused. No place in dirt for revitalized truth, the dust of manipulation has buried its roots. The seed of hell grows deep from within, a concept of time amended on a whim. Rewrite the past through glorious victory of tomorrow, for thy who bears fruit yesterday shall weep at the empty plate. To early to choose a life of great chance, the Russian Roulette comes but at a glance.
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