| I walk with my lonesome soul past the scream of the tormented mind
 the female falling
 with devil in hand
 spills of  ink
 the twisted self
 then
 smoke in the breath
 stone carved street
 the near smell of death
 and wandering thoughts
 and wandering feets
 meet the cold December night
 in the shadow of spires and liars
 to drink pure the
 excellence of  a walk through a sketch
 and revel slow
 I exist
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