versed in the art of emotional murder,
complete their task accordingly...
fading out,
eating their shadows.
men with success suits
equipped with shovels
covering.. always covering...
their voices echo catch-phrase sentiment,
the assurance
that everything
is going
as planned...
yet the treason pours like sand,
falling from their lips.
your lips.
this government,
this family,
this regime...
poison genetic politics.
[ we grew tired of sharing blood with you. ]
NB @ 10:29 AM
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