She, dressed with the street’s soils
Explained with words strained of insights
And wondered whether fate’s spoils
Awaited her; lost circles
around the straits
Of lucidity
And punished deep within
the dark waters
Of obscurity.
She, slumped over on the corner of Dickensian squatters
Complained of the sovereign frights
And of the degradations of fear
That brought us all here
Into the harrows of insanity
Where the days are mired in the nights
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