Poetry: A Critique

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I see faces that look nice, believing that they’re are angelic

Could be cold as ice, but surely, each other, they mimic

Always looking for a chance to slice, just another way to spread the epidemic

One day they’ll pay the price, when there’s no one left to critique

They stand in fierce and vice, without being sympathetic

Fiery are the eyes, smoky and magnetic

If one can see the lies, will choose to be schizophrenic

What do you think?


Written by Atrash

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