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Dec 2017
across the violent outbreak;
bullets scream the secrets locked in my veins,
and the broken beats of a somber tune
wash along the pitiful, flooding lanes
of blood pouring from a scarred wrist;
the source of ink that's to be printing our names
because we are not alive, my dear,
simply passengers boarding the same train
a ride we're unlikely to enjoy
Written by
unnamed  NYC
(NYC)   
  231
     Cadence, --- and Lior Gavra
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