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Poetry that understands why so many today simply don't like poetry. This is poetry for the rest of us. These roses might not be red, yet here are sown the blossoms of disaccord, and while the violets grown here betray even the blues of yesteryore, we'll find weakness betrayed and may even discover love to be shorn and cultivated for the benefit of all. With razor tenacity and foreboding, yet whimsical jest, this has something to offend everyone. An epic tale about everything and nothing at all. It's an offer to come lie in peaceful glade and rage in blood-thirsty game, to fornicate within the…mehr

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Poetry that understands why so many today simply don't like poetry. This is poetry for the rest of us. These roses might not be red, yet here are sown the blossoms of disaccord, and while the violets grown here betray even the blues of yesteryore, we'll find weakness betrayed and may even discover love to be shorn and cultivated for the benefit of all. With razor tenacity and foreboding, yet whimsical jest, this has something to offend everyone. An epic tale about everything and nothing at all. It's an offer to come lie in peaceful glade and rage in blood-thirsty game, to fornicate within the realms forbidden and love as the divinity only yourself can create.
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