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A Banquet Table

by satsih-verma

Performing to a script you divide me like a fish. From dirt a face rises. One flew over the sea to count the red islands where the rocks hanged the dry skulls. Why did you kill the panthers by feeding them the toxic menu? Sugar was never my cup. It was not the question of bread and butter: we were talking of clean air. The ashes will rule now.
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Written by
satsih-verma
Published
Apr 21, 2017
Time
1m
Tags
#life
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