August 16, 2010
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Fear beauty's strain to call.
Blood loss is faithful to people like us.
Warnings speak to imperfect places,
Put in the greenest grass sides.
Hanging red clouds, like scars,
On the brightest blue face.
Lit like flame's best friend,
On walls of wealthy questions.
In black, our lies blanket everything.
We've covered sight
But we say we've lost it.
The sun bends forward
To every corruptable lung,
Waiting for a hollow death.
Whipsering, "Useless. Come."

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