Today exists napping in a song.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Poem: 17 Days of Slaughter
A day 'ere and a day 'airless.
Drooping on the manliness
I went through the x perience
Wobbling, withering, wakingly
The soul of destruction that never
was.
Cut the rope of 17 days of slaughtered-
misery. Let me free, like f-bird.
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