May 16, 2025
More in mourning no need for fauxs
There is no rage or fit of envy for those witless fools, those sobbing poor that trot, that tango that titillate the broken hands of fruitless fate as they wander through old to-and-fro be-graped, begrudged in jackets colored slow
do not weep, dear friends
for eyes that can not see
that they are lost in almost-me
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