Oh, it is just like us to swing from the gallows.
Never matching each otherís rhythm,
Never finding unison.
In death, I am mocked for things I could never be in life.
Itís as becoming as the bag over your head.
Itís as fitting as the noose around my neck.
This deserves a round of applause.
:golfclap: :golfclap: :golfclap: :golfclap: :golfclap: :golfclap:
Oh, forgot about this. Anything to critique?
Something feels....slightly clumsy about the middle.
To me, at least.
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