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Mere children taken from their beds Are thrust into the ravages of war Fighting for the ideals, desires, greed Of those sociopathic profiteers. Babies, youngsters fight each other At the whim of those who dictate The need to conquer,…
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Rose, silence her desire when she, in this moment of desire, has passed into the grey and dawdles in the margins of such a hurtful unconventionality. Bend her astray from such a becoming. It would be a horror show: intimate, endless, and bloody, just the
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Tentacles hold fast to the small/
thrashing thing they believe is true//
which, devoured, once crushed/
completely still, turns into shit,
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