-Merk Squad-
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Poetry Binge.
IP:
Whispers......Demonic......Unfounded.....Drowned
Elate......Simplistical......hearts.....melancholy
Quietly These motions slurr,
trickle,
towards the horizon in blur.
Tantalising with the omni-crome curve,
and forth-lifting beyond the 1st verve,
never moved, stirred or wound up.
place around the grove for a round cut,
I'm a slag, a slut for word's
and when givin meaning the uproar occurs...
...And silently moving, like a snake in the grass
Scuttle and scramble over the place of last,
Feeling like a blast from the past,
an opposite crest shifts,
a puddle in the centre of the room bubbles and lifts
personified in the glaze a mystified rabble,
superficial in the haze they start to babble.
Unravelled a sweet sugar gains momenteum,
Cained, bound and left........
all i smell is the reminants of Meth.
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