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She whispered with a silent symphony as in solitude.
The piece indecently rhymed to prove a point unknown -
Of belonging, and beatitude, and an untamed soulfulness.
My innocent spirit struck ablaze with a thoughtfully eternal flame.
Her doll eyes, pale with a seemingly clear whiteness -
Of beauty, and of purity, and of heathen health,
Bribed my ignorant heart with a big sum of worthless treasure
To prescript my dreams, and also my wet dreams.
I succumbed with a lot of faith
And let her in,
Then out,
But left me inside-out
With a banquet,
But of thorns!
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