Pen plunged into the vein,
Black ink winds throughtout the room,
penetrating the body that holds the story.
[Spreads.]
Arteries know the awnser why this world is
full of an unending cancer.
City streets are where you find
Little girls who cut their minds off.
Their hands are unbindingly tied;
wrath no longer concretes their ideas.
Long lost in the prophet-less desert time
Sing me to sleep with iconic dreams
Said like a one no longer here.
Dear,
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