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night

all these things I'm too weak to change
rip my sould apart
I notice their emptiness

in a narrow alley
wondering where to find the truth
I hear clanging from time to time

in that neon light
I can still feel Him
stare at me
because a few victims more or less don't matter

Author notes

Please note that this is a Cento (also called patchwork poem) entirely made up of lines taken from poems I've written before.

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