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You can't Streep poverty under the carpet... - NaPoWriMo Day 9

A silence fell upon the city,

contorted shadows twisting moonlight.

Stuttering in a speakeasy seemed so misplaced

bottles rattled flickering like Fedora feathers

in an unforgiving wind.


The wretched odour of deprivation

a stench that sticks and degrades ones existence.

Even by day this city remains a lifeless sap

and by night the vampires feast on thei...

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