Golden brown stones,
stare at the,
battlefields of torn hearts,
no blinks.
The white flag burnt,
slaughter the dreaded option,
to conquer the sacrificed dream.
nature's game where once pure dove's flew,
posioned by the survival of our wicked morale.
Slither and attack
to win that loss,
to gain what is in his fake eyes.
False congratulation will be with you forever,
so be glad,
for you are now what you always wanted to be.
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