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Fat Boy, Little Boy

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The event horizon is eventually arriving,
For I can feel the brazen in any direction of a nuclear fission,
Is this an apparent confusion,
Because I can feel a sort of stress resulting in crimson ash,
Absent from my metaphorical fallout shelter due to a society run by cash,
A status of hierarchy simultaneously smelters in the sweltering,
And yet portent need to feel alive,
I find myself nearing a momentary skive,
To potentially derive mental thought from possible fiction,
The year was 2015 and I found myself nearing an autonomous conviction,
Nearly collapsing as the clock struck twelve the year was no longer the twentieth of fifteen,
I delve into a fresh perspective as previous actions to those who would instigate begin to dissipate,
And what lay imprinted as a shadowy silhouette is a life I leave that I’ll never forget…

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