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This is a wasteland, my only retreat.
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This is a wasteland, my only retreat.
In the garden of your mind, hatred grows and dissonance calls your name.
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I work within the dark to bring forth the light.
My paper heart will fold.
I can’t speak, it’s all phonetic.
I’ll watch you burn.
You can sing while my spirit starves.
I hope that it’s cancer, and not something else.