If I choose to drop a single, rectifying tear onto the typewriter, to cleanse the dampening of the blood shed
Is any privilege of the capacity left unabridged?
To see this, is to understand the centerpiece
Burn all my altruisms in the steep decline of society
What matters more is the rendition yet to come
Of warrior women whose wombs we are to fill
And the decency by which the flow knows no name
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I'm a white dread--so?
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