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Poetic T May 2019
We may walk pathes
         That others have

Colleted singular
        Footsteps upon.

           But where we are,
            It's ****** green.

And nothing is pure,
           Beyond the first footsteps.

For after one, everyone

             Is just a mirage of purit.

And everything after is a mirage

                 Of wishful thinking...

— The End —