Squares

Beaten for the bad jinx,
I crossed the way for some squares.
In my drunk and dying steps
I was delaying the rejection that in my shoulders cheated.
The epical poem of the artist or the shy of innocent,
the afflictions of my march did'nt soften.
I appraise while it of the city in the puddles water.
A humanity sketch who my feet wounded.
It coveted the richness in my plans.
But the astuteness of the marginality,
left me in the wrong side of the end of the line.

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