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Surging Fever
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Satish Verma Poised to reach out and
catch the flames, licking your own
wounds. You have no rage for dark hopes.
You lie undead.Bangles
click. I like your every step.The blood
prints of hands shine on walls.
My thirst increases. I
want to drink hemlock under the moon.
No cave of sulphur will have any deity.
