Collecting Garbage Fuel

Take the best created from an active imagination to the nearest trash can and drop

Art dies in the slightest resistance of wind, promise yourself you’ll never create again

Investigation in the mirror, why, for whom, it adds fire to gloom, pumps up Doom’s chest, already dead in peace let it rest

Heard various pens laugh, papers cry fowl demanding white-out baths

An unrecognizable flag flown in mystery, easily buried without dirt in history.

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