Buttonhole

When you grow, you breathe.

If you breathe too much, you cannot scream.

One who screams and cannot be heard,

has bad recollections of what was observed.

The contest to be that epicenter of minds,

has been a vicious retort throughout earths time.

As the loops of whither, clash with whitewash

There can only be one secure.

Identity stolen, the luminosity captured to dress a tasty sort,

resorting to lido as the trophy for the fraud?

The water suffocates the breath.

Collides with kudos.

 

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