Paris

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Indulging in these hysterical methods of sedation 

maybe pleases some part of your mind 

I know your visceral sentiments are but chemicals 

the horrors after tranquility are less than kind


One hand holding Eliot,

one hand reaching for your pompous dreams 

I'd never take you for an escapist 

if you didn't pour your guts out to the screens


just a half-lived life

with your half-closed Keats 

now the sky is awash with blood

Paris, hide her from these thousands of fleets

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