A war was waged
by one bitter man
We fed off his slaughter.
And in the end,
he swooned
his underbelly exposed
soft cream melting
cleared away his smoke and mirrors
and
we
gnawed
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because poetry's just another way to confess
so, this is it:
- viktorria
- I've just realized that I can't write to please everyone, only myself. Thank you, Mr Bradbury.
These poems are my own
and unless otherwise noted, are a reflection and extension of myself, and myself only.
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