"Nero A Hit"

He'll go black

Attempting to reason it

What a world

A disdain

That infects

So magnetic

Poetic justice

Blinded by spirits

Drinking our hearts out

A blend of common


A curse which cures boredom


Flicker ashes into a fish bowl

Reckless concern

For aims which bind

Hands tied for

A lover of finer things

Will always sin

My mouth trap

Baited with open sores

A midnight feast

For the creatures

That possess

The will to be alone

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