In a sphere of infinite narcissism
Wicked homosapiens tread the horizon
Daunting threats of turbulent tragedy
Dawn upon the hopeless, roaming souls
Sheathing them with treacherous shadows
Of atrociously, covert crucifixion
The elite coquettes hearken
The tumultous sound
Emanating from multiple, acrid massacres
Tainting these notably wounded hearts
Within a satanic plethora
Of acrimonious equivocation
By nightfall a harrowing suicide
By daybreak a dreary mourning
Catastrophe is all that occupies
This infamous wasteland of avarice
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