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my broken tear
  I
  stand. Like
  the wildflower
  Halts. I eat the jabbing
  Grass. I scream and whine
  For my existence to be heard,
  For there to be a chime. I cry a
  Mountain of hash and broken vows.
  An almost disenchantment! How,
  Almost, peculiar. Saddened, suddenly,
  Swollen: my peculiarities.
  The untold myth of individualism
  Smears a mocking wheeze of
  Mockery, pity, on my porch.
My tear is an earthquake of rhythm.
  My dead body, the sand of
  Equivalence. Oh! How
  The grass must sway,
  the class retained
  Of a formal who
  Depicts the
  Cutthroat
  world.
  I do,
  do.

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