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Insatiable bowl
Fury of cage,
Forbade him from rage.
For he knew he was in pain,
Which gave him joy from the sorrowest gains.
Deemed to be horrid,
Demise from torrid.
He was slandered,
For the world’s a foul stage.
Scowled, dreaded, hated,
For the lack of unamounted goal.
Jokes, what happens to you’re bowl,
When you chose to find beauty in horrid ghouls.
All you’ll taste is, are the fouls you’ve committed.
Copyright ©
Moksha Kochar
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