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Through the looking glass
and the purgatory sheds its colours.
Echo; a million miles, a million breaths diffracted.
Silent shards
and the clenching of teeth;
when was I a word to be weld in the mouths of such men
when was I a sword to be swung in the hands of such men.
The taste of cadence in a language few master
and the kiss of blades which cut none;
when were you the paragon of my deception.
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