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We Shred

 In the shadows of a squalid room, where dust and decay entwine,

Blake, with vacant eyes, seeks elusive poetry, a thought so divine.

The wall, a witness to neglect, sheds dust upon his bed,

Expressionless, he contemplates, with turmoil in his head.


A notebook, forsaken on the floor, a battlefield for rats,

Their battle over rotten bread, a reflection of life's pained spats.

Blake intervenes, casting the loaf and rodents away,

Yet, 'Everything Shreds,' he scribes, a mantra for the disarray.


As a train rattles by, shaking his abode with disdain,

Dust cascades like sorrow, a relentless, gritty rain.

Unfazed, he writes, pen dancing on the page,

A narrative of desolation, an artist trapped in a cage.


The air thickens with the stench of urban strife,

Yet Blake persists, capturing the essence of a desperate life.

Amidst the cacophony of honks and traffic's cruel ruse,

He confronts his reflection, eyes reflecting an inner bruise.


In the mirror's gaze, a revelation unfolds,

Ten minutes of introspection, a story untold.

His eyes widen, a silent scream in the dark,

As he etches a new heading, leaving a poignant mark.


With a scratch, he erases, then rewrites the tale,

A declaration emerges, a truth set to assail.

"We Murder," the heading, etched in ink so stark,

A poetic confession, a journey through the dark.

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