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Behind the curtains of my eyes Hides a glare A stare A lie The carefully crafted façade The fragile, cheap disguise   Behind a mask lies another Feeble layer of an onion
Onions, so vile a food Just the thought of onions ruins my mood They should be outright banned Instead of chopped, cooked and canned Even preparation makes you cry Eat one? I think I'd rather die
It’s hard, isn’t it, waiting on the cold surface for your time, your death? You can hear your time ticking away quickly. The ticking slows down, as you are suddenly
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