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The Half-Dead Moon

Rating: 5.0
You cannot quit my life,
without blood on your hands cleaving
through my poems. Will you take off your skin?

Were your lips as true
as your eyes? As I know you O king,
you have punctuated my song.

Pulverised You said,
there was someone sending wind to
fire. I was burning in the salt lake.
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4/14/2021 6:48:57 AM # 1.0.0.559