Snake skinned

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Snake skinned


I turn to notice
My skin is snake

Active sins linger
Try and be a saint

Trapping myself again wicked
I was doing great

Forbidden sweet extract
Tempts the devil will say

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Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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jceclipse’s Poems (3)

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Without 1
Snake skinned 0
Inside 2

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