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nothing.

Damnation stained yellow on your teeth.
Leave the straight and narrow.
Insects will follow, dying at your feet.
As the colors fade to grey, the sign of plague is near.

Clouds flood the sky, shame.
Leave crunching beneath your feet.
Pick them up, count them.
Examine them, shame.

Languages rot, and the insect lose interest.
Fall to your knees only to exercise your schedule.
This endless circle engulfs every bit of your heart.
Routine bites hard.

    I plan to revise this poem: please leave constructive criticism!
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  • Lovebugg
    October 5

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    I've noticed that a lot of your poetry has lines taken from other songs. This one has lines taken from The Devil Wears Prada - Danger: Wildman. Make sure you cite anything you take from another artist, otherwise its plagarism, and a pretty shallow move.