Artistry was quality until jealousy and pettiness
turned wreath into wrath for a revolutionaire,
all must be the same as us !
For none may refine or be elegant, or even decide
which cloth'n accessory they wear today.
Yet it is only to notice - how they enflamed as is,
in envys grasp - lash out and destroys it all.
We all need means to an end - but after that
then priori, priorities is what to do then
or what it could have been
As a homeless man for most are men - it is,
torn apart by the claws of wickedness.
Yet as kings once stood for a gentle hand is but
to notice details for compassions grasp.
It's as the ciphers, wolves snap, and perverts
until it hits lights out but i'm a butterfly
in the serpents mouth - ;
my own wings painted in a feminine pink
and yellow, in hues others made too.
As moths were - invisible are my tattoos
as they scorched into my flame - lit.
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