Unknown.

I could write a poem about you Writing poetry for a stranger And me, another stranger Laughing with glee And playfully toying With the innocent joy Of being appreciated And unknown.

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Wanton

Looking for a moral compass in this haystack and all I see are needles. Needless. Waste for wanting, and more than I can take. Taking what I need. No seed of irony I press on, flying high above clouds of smoke and the dust is in my eyes as I crash head first into our…

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