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Le gasp, Shiro does poetry, too. (The horror!) Inspired by a concert I went to last night, because I'm an uberdork like that.

Kunek

It is the forlorn gaze
of the broken-hearted angel—purest in Heaven—
as he falls to Hell
wing feathers ripping off
rotten to the tip.

Then it is the anticlimacticism of the wasteland
and his words add a new dimension.

I understand now why musicians are so thin.
If I could work my words the way this music sounds
I would never eat again.